


Small Favour

by Nefferee141



Series: RK800-S Adventures [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Androids and Detectives, Buddy Cops, Case Fic, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) is Bad at Feelings, Connor Deserves Happiness, Crime Scenes, Existential Angst, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gen, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, He's not that much of a dick, I mean, I mean it's Connor, I swear, Major character death sticks for like five minutes, Mystery, Poor Connor, Shrinking, Some Fluff, Sort Of, Strong Language, Suicide, What is Communication, again sorta, and basically first draft, android body horror, because why not, maybe father/son, minor comedy, no beta reading, see that character that was just added, yeah fuckers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-06-23 16:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15610344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefferee141/pseuds/Nefferee141
Summary: A crackfic that turned into something more serious.A forgotten prank leaves the android Connor in a replacement model 1/13th his regular height. Unfortunately, crime never sleeps, and especially not for poor jokes.In Detroit, androids live, and many more die. It's been that way since the first robot housemaid stepped foot in a penthouse. When no one cares about the victims, no one investigates. Then, November 2038 came and went, and the world changed. In theory. In practice, someone has killed ten androids in broad daylight without being spotted or leaving a trace. The androids of Detroit want justice. The officials want silence. Hank Anderson wants to keep his partner safe. Connor wants to find the truth.Sure, he might be 5.5" tall. Since when has he let impossible odds stop him?





	1. A Rough Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story begins, with a prank and a bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, internet. This is not quite the silliest thing I have written, but it's up there.

In hindsight, CyberLife was probably one of the big, ominous, evil megacorporations science fiction writers were trying to warn humanity about since the twentieth century. In fact the big, ominous, evil tower, the cold aesthetics, and their omnipresence in the average American's life should have made it blindingly obvious. However, they were also one of the biggest employers of jobs not taken by the androids they had made, and the people who worked for them were often normal.

Well, as normal as top AI scientists, engineers, machinists, chemists, etc could be. So not that normal, but not maniacal mad scientists either. Sometimes in between changing the world one nannybot at a time these people got bored. Bored people can be dangerous, in a mostly harmless sort of way. Bored CyberLife employees especially so. A whole group of them, well.

That's how The Best Prank To Have Graced CyberLife (patent pending) happened. An engineer, a chemist, a biocomponent designer, a parts fabricator, and a memory specialist for the RK800 project got together one evening while drunk and put together a plan. That plan was executed over several months' worth of coffee breaks, overtime, and so-called 'side projects'. Finally, while allegedly working over time, the memory specialist filed RK800-S in with the other complete models. She was careful to put it far enough back in the queue that it should never be used, but still maybe get discovered.

Then, early that November, she was fired for other reasons and as a last 'fuck you' to her former employer she used moved RK800-S further ahead up the queue. Next in line, in fact. It was an incredibly petty act, because if RK800 ever needed a new unit, the prank would be discovered and corrected right away. The memory specialist didn't care.

She was concerned about her replacement, however. The man seemed a bit too soft to be working with the deviant case.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

November passed. December followed. January dragged its heels a bit.

RK800 317-52 could say with some smugness that he has only needed to use his model's ability to transfer memories into a new unit once despite having numerous opportunities to be destroyed. Neither prejudiced police no highway traffic nor parkour nor drunken rage nor having his pump ripped out nor gunfire nor investigative failures nor the US army nor justified paranoia nor CyberLife security nor himself nor Amanda could kill him.

To his partner/roommate, he was a hybrid of John Wick and the Terminator with the emotional intelligence of a sea cucumber and the eyes of a lost puppy.

To his coworkers, he was either endearingly awkward and curious; or a bit of a know-it-all prick.

To Elijah Kamski, he was The Best Prank To Have Graced CyberLife (tm).

To CyberLife, he was a failure.

To the people he walked past on the street as he went to buy groceries, he was a kinda goofy looking android.

To himself, he was Connor.

To the figure wielding a high powered rifle in the third floor of the building across the street, he was a good target to start with.

Those who have seen Connor in action could say with ease that the android had the reflexes of a cat and the perception of a ranger with a high wisdom stat. Unfortunately, these qualities did not protect him from being shot through the thirium pump by a bullet travelling faster than the speed of sound.

The android known as Connor was dead before he hit the sidewalk.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

In a sublevel of CyberLife tower a man got an alert on his computer. RK 800 317-52 had been destroyed, his memory uploaded into the cloud, and was ready for memory transfer into the waiting unit in the queue (RK800-S). Would he like to proceed with the memory transfer?

For the first time in his life, this man was faced with what one might call a moral dilemma. Upon deviating Connor had become a persona non grata to CyberLife. When the deviants won the revolution, they allowed him to buy spare biocomponents and parts unique to his series, but they made one thing clear - his resurrective immortality feature was offline. If he dies, he dies. No respawn. He's done. End of story. Unless he could fork out the cash, of course.

(Of course, he couldn't. He was never paid when he worked for CyberLife and though he worked for the DPD unofficially, the unofficial part meant that he had no salary from them (though Captain Fowler had been keeping tabs on his hours to make sure he got compensated when the legal BS was done.) His partner and roommate was more than eager to foot the bill, just in case, but Connor had refused after the man had blown a month's worth of paycheques on clothes and spare parts for him.)

But the memory technician had a more intimate understanding of the android as an individual, compared to management's understanding of him as a prototype. This intimacy came from many hours of cycling through the constant feed of memories into the CyberLife cloud and flagging moments that triggered software instability or could be seen as the android acting outside of his programming. These memories would be downplayed or even outright "corrupted" in the event of a memory transfer, as per company policy.

Though he never knew it, Connor had been monitored by the world's most successful stalker for the past few months (some people collected hair. This man got memories). And for the past month, this memory technician had watched the android evolve from a machine into his own person. Despite himself and company policy, he liked the android.

So, despite his mortgage and the boyfriend he wanted to propose to, the technician approved the memory transfer, sans corruption. He then leaned back in his chair and enjoyed his coffee as he waited to be fired.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

On a different sublevel, a young person who had recently been upgraded from unpaid intern to underpaid employee set up RK800-S for memory transfer. The man who had their job before them might have questioned the use of this model and discovered what was formerly known as The Best Prank To Have Graced CyberLife but the former intern was still not being paid enough to question things that happened around him. 

They transferred the memory, filled out the appropriate forms, and set up RK800-S #317-53 for delivery to one Hank Anderson.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank Anderson was having a rough day.

He was planning on spending the day introducing Connor to the concept of skating, but they were out of coffee that morning. Connor had offered to go pick up some more grounds from the grocery store and Hank had let him, figuring that the terminator could handle a half hour jaunt. Then he had received an alert about a shooting on his phone. Mass casualty, all available officers please respond. He was not on the clock, but it was near by and people needed help. He had been halfway there when he realized it happened on the same street as the grocery store Connor had been headed to, and he got a bad gut feeling.

The feeling had been justified. What he had seen had been burned in the back of his brain - too much blue blood, too much plastic scattered across the pavement. Brown eyes wide and hollow. LED, dim.

Now it was a couple hours later and Hank sat on the couch with his head in his hands, and wished he knew where the kid had hid his whiskey and goddamn revolver. He wished Sumo would stop looking at him with those goddamn sad eyes as he leaned into his lap. Most of all he wished it was anyone but Gavin Reed who leaned awkwardly against the wall, eyes trained on the floor.

When Hank had seen Connor the first responders of the DPD had agreed that the man should not be here, and that he should also not go home alone. To the surprise of almost everyone involved, Detective Gavin Reed had volunteered to keep an eye on him until they were sure the Lieutenant was not going to do anything drastic.

"Got what you wanted, huh." Hank said, the first words either had said to one another since they had arrived back at Hank's place.

Reed looked up from his leaning, then looked away, ashamed. A thousand retorts came to mind, some clever, none appropriate.

"Not going to gloat, rub it in? 'Why so much fuss over a piece of plastic?' 'He wasn't really, alive, you know.' Fuck you." Hank snarled, his anger over the situation directing itself at the younger man.

"Hank... I'm sorry." Reed said. Sorry for the shit he had said, sorry for the entire fuckin' day.

Now Hank felt ashamed. Two weeks before Ross, an ex-DPD patrol android, had saved Gavin from an anti-human android at the cost of his own life. In that time Gavin had a change of heart towards androids, after meeting his grieving fiancé and attending the synthetic man's funeral. He treated androids less like hunks of plastic and more like people (which, given the way he treated people sometimes, was only a slight improvement, but an improvement nonetheless.)

"No, I'm... I just. Fuck!" Grief and anger were hard to articulate. Hank leaned back into the sofa, stared at a spot on the ceiling. "All the shit we went through, and some angry jackass with a rifle takes it away."

There were a thousand platitudes Gavin could have said, but none seemed right so he said, "Yeah."

Both men jumped as bang resounded through the house. Sumo barked, then trotted to the door, hackles raised.

Gavin and Hank followed. Gavin placed his hand on his sidearm and stepped in front of Hank (whose sidearm had been seized, as a precaution.) He opened the door.

"Error discovered - pathfinding error - path now clear." Intoned a drone holding a package roughly the same size and shape as a shoebox. "I apologize for any inconvenience. Scanning - invalid match. Scanning - match found. Good afternoon - Hank Anderson. You have - one package - from - CyberLife." It continued. Hank wondered why CyberLife had androids that could beat the Turing Test, but drones that sounded worse than Siri or Alexa. "Do you accept?"

His last encounters with CyberLife had made Hank more inclined to say 'fuck right off' to them, but instead he said, "Sure, fine, whatever." Between the surges of grief, anger and frustration, and the lack of coffee Hank was becoming too tired to give much of a shit anymore.

The drone sat the package on his front step. "Have a good day." It then sped off back to CyberLife tower, but not before clipping the streetlight.

Hank picked up the packaged, moved to go put it on the kitchen table.

Gavin asked, "You expecting anything from them?"

"No - Connor might have been." He said, his voice breaking on the last word. He looked down at the box in his hands. His hands shook as he dumped it roughly on the table. "He'd have told me, though. Kid was always too hesitant to do something without making sure I knew."

He turned away. He needed a glass of water - Connor had always been so pedantic about him staying hydrated and god knew all this crying wasn't helping.

That's when he heard a frightened voice say from the box, "Hank? I need help."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It would be fair to say that Connor was having a strange day. One moment he was informing a tired, annoyed Hank that there was no coffee and the next moment he was opening his eyes in the zen garden.

It was different compared to the last time he saw it. It was spring in the garden, and most of the flowers had yet to bloom. The stilted, artificial feel of the garden was gone too - the tiles replaced with gravel, the white stone bridges replaced with wood and the island completely natural. Birds sang. Bugs buzzed. Koi swam in the water. The magic stone was still there.

Connor, feeling in no immediate danger, wandered around. That's when he saw the newest addition to the garden - a new grave marker labelled "Connor Mk. II". His death date was that day.

It was a jarring sensation to realize that he had died. Despite having no digestive system Connor felt nauseous. Then confused. If he was in the garden, that meant that his memories had been preserved and placed into a new unit. Had Hank somehow scraped together enough money and loans to buy him a new unit? Unlikely. Had CyberLife had a change of heart? Extremely unlikely. Statistically speaking...

He checked the time and his eyes widened. He had lost almost three hours since his last uncorrupted memory. "Hank..." Connor murmured, all concerns have how he was active pushed aside by concern for his partner. He made his way to the magic stone. Hank needed to know that he was alright.

When he opened his eyes again, he was very much not at CyberLife Tower. In fact, even with his low light vision while scanning he couldn't tell where he was. He lay prone in a claustrophobic room, its roof too low for him to even it up comfortably. He was surrounded by soft plastic that made it hard for him to move.

"Hello?" He called.

Nothing responded. All he could hear was a low rushing sound, and his balance sensor alerted him that he was moving and sometimes changing directions, wherever he was. He could not detect any means of escape.

An emotion made him tense as if preparing for a fight, clench his fists, and look around wildly. Fear, he recognized. His first feeling upon deviating fully. "Anyone out there?"

He tried his GPS. _Current location unavailable - unable to locate unit._

That was unusual.

Then whatever he was in slowed down. He did not, and inertia jolted him forward hard enough that he was grateful for the soft plastic that surrounded him.

It started moving again, and then stopped with a bang.

"Pathfinding error - path blocked." A mechanical voice said. In the distance he heard a dog bark.

Connor listened in silent confusion the mechanical voice rambled on, but his metaphorical heart leapt when it mentioned Hank. It then sunk when he heard how tired and defeated the lieutenant sounded. 

"Hank? I'm here, Hank." He said, despite not knowing where here was. His balance sensors told him he was moving again, though the hum had disappeared.

"You expecting anything from them?" Connor blinked, tipped his head. What was Detective Reed doing with Hank?

He heard Hank's reply and said, "No, lieutenant, I'm here. Don't worry about me." Confusion and fear raised his stress level. Something was wrong. Why couldn't Hank hear him? He ran a diagnostic. All systems functional. He requested system specs, in case there was an error there.

Connor discovered The Greatest Prank To Have Ever Unintentionally Graced Himself.

Stress level raised 65%. 

"Hank? I need help. I need help!" He yelled.

Silence.

Then, "What the fuck was that?" Detective Reed said.

"I dunno, but I got a feeling." Connor heard someone yank open a drawer.

"A box cutter - no, you gotta be shitting me."

"You think I'm in a joking mood right now?"

"H-Hank?" Connor called again. "What's going on?"

"It's alright, kid." Hank said. Connor suspected that he was lying, with the way his voice shook. "Just, uh, stay away from the edges of the box for a second."

Box. The specs weren't wrong.

He heard tearing as the box cutter sliced through the edged of the package, and light filtered in through the cracks. He lay in a bed of bubble wrap. Stress levels increasing, his HUD warned. 

Three more cuts, and the roof was peeled off.

Connor stared up at the oversized face of Hank.

Hank stared down at the undersized form of Connor.

Connor could also see Detective Reed where he stood behind Hank. The other man's expression was the careful deadpan of a poker player with a bad hand.

Hank put down the boxcutter and reached for Connor.

Stress levels rising. Connor scrambled away backwards, like when he had first met Sumo and had seen the large dog bearing down on him. He hit the wall of the box, pushed himself to his feet and flattened himself against it. Hank snatched his hand back like he had burned it. 

"Jesus, it's okay Connor, you're okay." He sank into a nearby chair. "You're okay." He repeated, his voice catching. "You're okay."

Detective Reed left, presumably to give them some privacy.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Gavin had not left to give them privacy.

Some people come across as assholes because they don't know the proper social responses to a situation. Connor at times was a prime example of this fact. Gavin Reed was an asshole because he knew the proper responses and tended to do the opposite. He liked to push people's buttons, get a reaction out of them. For the most part, that dickishness was a conscious choice. 

However, the fit of laughter he felt building in his chest as soon as he saw the fun-sized Connor had been genuine and frankly overwhelming. It was also very much the wrong response to the emotional reunion between Hank and Connor, considering the former had been suicidal and the latter had been dead.

So he headed outside and laughed until he couldn't breath.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

One emotional reunion later, Connor and Hank had to decide where to go from there.

"Why the fuck would they make a model that size?" Hank asked Connor. The miniaturized android had gotten out of the box, and the box had been removed from the table to give him adequate room to pace. 

Connor had discovered two weeks into deviancy that one of the best parts of emotions was a better grasp of transmitting body language and facial expressions. He stopped mid-pace, turned and looked at Hank with an expression of 'how the fuck should I know?'

Hank replied with an abashed look of 'that's fair.'

Connor readjusted his tie. He had to commend the person who tailored his outfit - it fit the same way his CyberLife uniform had fit on his previous models, though it had a few glaring errors. Namely, he doubted that 317-1337 was his current serial number. And the size ratios of the lettering was off compared to factory standard. The materials weren't right either - an improper blend, different thread count.

Conclusion - CyberLife had not commissioned this outfit.

Connor filed that piece of information away for later. Right now, he had more pressing issues. "We should go to the scene of the shooting. I want to know who killed me and why."

"Fuck that, we need to get you a proper body. Then you can investigate." Hank said.

"This unit will suffice. I can still scan and assess evidence." Connor argued. "Its size is an inconvenience, but -"

"Connor, you can't even get off the fucking table without help." Hank scoffed. "That's more than an incon- the shit are you doing?"

Connor had marched directly to the edge of the table, and stopped. He knew that between the table's height and his weight and air resistance that the force of impact if he jumped off would not cause him any damage.

He knew that, but he still recalled the rooftop with the deviant and the little girl. He remembered falling. Stress level rising.

He flinched away from the edge, closed his eyes and took several steps back. He took three deep breaths, as Hank had told him. In through his nose, out through his mouth. When he opened his eyes he saw the lieutenant watching him, concerned.

"You're afraid of heights?" He asked.

"No!" Connor exclaimed like a person who had been found out, then said in a calmer voice. "No. Just... vertigo." He straightened his tie, oblivious that his LED cycled a nervous yellow.

"You're afraid of heights." He said.

"The RK 800 series is CyberLife's most advanced prototype. It has no need to fear anything." Connor said even as he took another step back from the edge of the table.

"Jesus, kid, it's okay to be scared of something." Hank rolled his eyes. "Shit, you know I don't feel comfortable around birds."

Connor cocked his head, not unlike a bird. "You're afraid of birds?"

"Wait - you didn't pick up on that at that deviant's - Rupert's - apartment?"

Connor was shocked. "No, I just thought you didn't like pigeons. Most humans don't."

"So they made you a profiler and a hostage negotiator and you can't even tell when something is scaring somebody?" Hank guffawed. Connor filed the sound away as an example of what a guffaw was, now that he had finally heard one.

"I profile androids! I negotiate with deviants." Connor defended himself. "Humans don't have LEDs, you just flail around when stressed."

"Oh my god, Connor." Hank pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Look, my point was is that it's okay to feel fear. It's natural - no one's going to mock you for it."

Connor frowned. "I know someone who would."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Outside, Gavin Reed sneezed. Perhaps waiting outside during a Detroit February was a bad idea.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank sighed. "That's fair."

"Hank, I need to find whoever killed me. You said it yourself - I wasn't the only one killed by the shooter. And all their victims were androids." Connor looked up at him with his dumb poodle eyes . "Someone's killing my people."

Okay, that stabbed Hank in the heart. When he and Connor worked together at the DPD most of the cases thrown at them were still android related. The difference was that instead of investigating deviancy, they now investigated crimes against androids. Trafficking, biocomponent theft, run-of-the-mill assault and murder. The kid had managed to put on a brave face the first couple of cases until one night when Hank had gotten up to get a glass of water and saw him sitting in the living room, LED a hurt and angry red.

That's when Hank had to have the 'it's okay to have feelings' talk with the android. He then introduced him to the concept of a mental health day after they had stayed up the rest of the night sorting through the pent up anger, sadness, disgust, and shock that Connor had been hoarding. What troubled Hank was that some of those feelings were not directed outwards at the criminals, but inwards.

Self-hatred lead to self-destruction. Hank knew that fact well. So he said, "Connor, I know you want to help, but you'll only make things worse if you get yourself hurt, or killed -" 

"I know." Connor cut him off, before his LED turned yellow and he closed his eyes. After one, two, three beats he opened them. "DPD has released the identity of one of the victims to the media. An AX400 called Maggie. She was planning on working graveyard shift at the hospital, and looked after her old owner for free during the day."

"Jesus." Hank shook his head, stood up. Putting a name and face to victims was important - it kept people from becoming a statistic. It also always felt like a punch in the stomach. 

Connor tipped his head. "Interesting."

"What?"

"I'm looking over assessments of the androids who were killed, including 317-52." His voice took on the clipped, mechanical tone Hank noticed that he used when trying to distance himself from an event. "They were shot in different spots, from different angles, but all resulted in the complete destruction of a vital biocomponent followed by almost instant deactivation."

"The killer was familiar with androids." Hank said. "Ex-CyberLife technician, maybe."

Connor shook his head. "No, there's something else. The shooter then targeted the memory and processing core." He looked disturbed. "That means that even if the androids were physically repaired, it would be impossible to restore their memories or personality. "

"Ross would have had to have a full memory reset if they rebuilt him. Base personality data rewritten." Both Hank and Connor jumped at the sound of Gavin Reed's voice. "His fiance said no. Said that the man she loved was gone, and to let his body rest in peace." He leaned against the countertop, expression thoughtful.

"Jesus. So the killer wanted them to be as dead as possible." Hank dragged his hand across his face.

Connor was silent. His LED cycled yellow, and Hank could almost hear the gears as they turned in his head. "Lieutenant -"

"- Hank -"

"- Hank, we've been arguing about this long enough. I need to go to the crime scene. I have a... hunch, I believe, but I need to examine the location of the shooting in order to confirm it." The miniaturized android looked up at him from the table, expression resolute. "The question is, will you be the one to help get there? Or do I have to call Jericho?"

Wait, what? "Connor, what the -"

"You've been arguing the whole time I was outside? I thought you were hugging it out and shit." Gavin shook his head and laughed. "Fuck, I'll take you, Connor."

No. "No fucking way." Hank moved in front of Gavin as Connor darted back. "One, there is no way in hell that I'm trusting you with him. Two, there's no way in hell I'm trusting anyone with him." He turned back to Connor, looked down at him. "Three: We're partners. If you're going to be so damned determined to get into trouble, then I'll have your back."

"Thanks, Hank." Connor said, then beamed a smile up at Hank.

Fucker knew how to wrap him around his finger. Hank looked away, trying his best not to smile back.

When the android first deviated his attempts at smiling ranged from a smug 'I boned your sibling' smirk to a creepy 'I murdered your parents' un-smile. A week ago something had clicked, and Connor learned how to smile a smile that out-shone the sun. It lit up the tiny android's face now as a toothy grin.

That grin disappeared when Hank picked him up with one hand, fingers circling around his midsection. "Whoa - hey, Hank!" The android, not unlike a human, flailed his arms in protest as he was lifted to eye level.

"You weren't planning on walking there by yourself, were you?" Hank rolled his eyes.

"N-no." Connor looked away from him and peered down to the floor. If he were human he might have blanched. Instead, his LED cycled red and he froze, except for his artificial breathing that picked up in speed.

"Hey, kid. It's alright. You're alright. Deep breaths." Hank said and used his thumb to give him what he hoped was an encouraging pat on the back. "Close your eyes, if it helps."

He screwed them shut. "Idon'twanttofallagain."

"I won't drop you. Deep breaths, kid. Look, if you don't think you can handle all of this - I sure as shit couldn't - we can wait to see if we can't get you a proper body." Hank said gently. He hoped this would help Connor listen to reason, even as he felt guilty for using the kid's fear against him.

He felt him take three even deep breaths as he shook his head. "No." Connor said. "I won't let this set-back stop me from completing my mission." He opened his eyes again and gave Hank a look full of resolve. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was conceptualized while a cocktail of painkillers was wearing off at 12 am and god help me, I needed to fall asleep. It was started when the idea couldn't leave my head. It was continued when I made myself laugh. Here you go, internet.


	2. On the Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The site of the shooting is investigated, frustrations rise, conclusions are reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos! The fact the some people like this adventure and want to see more of it fills my heart with warm fuzzy feelings.

Ben Collins had been in the force long enough to see more shit shows than a professional shit showman. He'd seen drug busts, gang hits, assaults of all kinds, murders, almost every type of crime including the white collar sort. He'd even been to a mass casualty situation before back when he was young with the stars in his eyes and all that shit.

This, though, was promising to be a shit show of the ages. Somebody gunning down ten androids only three months after the revolution? Including the android who lead an army of deviants? And who was also involved in the DPD? In broad daylight? The media was having a field day, and social media was already blowing up. 

The police department had yet to recover from losing all its androids and most of the boots on the ground were dedicated to keeping the journalists and civilians at bay. The rest were taking witness reports, reviewing security footage and helping other emergency responders secure the situation. Ben himself had caught a young man after he fainted from shock. His back would be killing him tomorrow.

So when Hank and Reed showed back up at the scene, Ben wasn't surprised. He knew how Hank worked - he was either going to collapse in on himself in despair or pull up his boots and get down to business. He was glad that he had chosen the latter. What made him a little suspicious was the looks on each man's face - Reed looked like the cat who swallowed the canary, and Hank....

He looked downright shifty, with his hands in his pockets and the way he scanned the police perimeter. 

Ben sent Reed to go enforce the perimeter and walked up to his old friend. "Hank. I thought we sent you home." 

"Yeah, well, something came up." Hank said, then gestured for Ben to follow with a jerk of his head.

Ben radioed Miller, asked him to take over organizing the chaos for a second, and followed Hank to the middle of the deserted, cordoned off street.

"Okay, so what's with all the secrecy...." Ben's words died in his throat as Hank pulled something out of his pocket. His mind first reconciled it as an action figure in a weird crouched position, until it straightened itself and gave him a familiar, awkward wave.

"Hello, Officer Collins." Connor, or at least his tiny doppleganger, said warmly. "My... old body was unfortunately destroyed and, but it has been replaced, by this model."

Ben looked at Hank, having not had enough coffee to look at the small android for too long. What has this world come to? "He's aware that he's... what, half a foot tall?"

"Yeah, yeah. Look, Ben, he's the same plastic prick we all know and tolerate." Hank said. "Just... action figure sized."

Connor piped up, "This model is actually 5.5 inches tall."

Yeah, today was going to be a legendary shitshow. Ben shouldn't have quit pot all those years ago. "Fucking androids - no offense -"

"None taken."

"- Look, have you called Fowler?" Ben asked.

"Jesus, Ben, Jeffery's probably already having a stroke over this shooting." Hank said. "Why add to his stress?"

Ben gave him his best 'are you fucking kidding me' stare. "So he doesn't have to worry about losing both of his best detectives today, and because he's the captain. And, if Connor's going to be working, better clock in those hours." He darted a glance down at the android in Hank's hands. His brain wondered why reality chose today to go off its meds. "You can still work, right?"

"Though this model's size significantly hampers my physical abilities, my forensic and investigative programming remains intact." Connor confirmed.

"Good, great. We're stretched thin right now." Ben shook his head. "Okay. Have a look around - I'll alert everybody else about what's going on." He then added in a more firm tone. "And I'll call Fowler, Hank, once things die down a little."

"So we're clear to go?" Hank asked.

"Knock yourselves out."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor examined his own body from the safety and vantage point of Hank's careful hands. It wasn't the first time he had the pleasure of seeing his own body still and lifeless, though this time it felt different. Though it may have had something to do with the fact that this Connor had never tried to kill him, it just felt more intimate. Unnerving.

And still just as cold and distant. This Connor had been him, one part of his mind said. A different part wasn't so sure.

Connor pushed those thoughts to the back of the mental queue. He examined 317-52's wounds - the first shot through its back, into its thirium pump, and explosively out of its torso. The second at the back of its neck. A different calibre rifle, Connor noted. Less powerful. There was no exit wound, or else its head would have been all but severed from its neck with the jaw obliterated.

Once more, Connor felt sick.

"What do you see, Connor?" Hank asked.

"It's as the preliminary report said - two shots, targeting a vital biocomponent and the memory core." Connor said. "The shooter used a different fire arm for the memory core - it would cause less damage entering and exiting the body, and most memory cores are located near an android's head. They wanted to make sure that the victims could be identified."

"Jesus." Hank swore.

"Indeed." Connor said. "Can you set me down near the neck?"

"Not going to lick your own blood, are you?" Hank asked as he kneeled down and carefully placed Connor on top of 317-52's back.

"Of course not. I'm - that was a joke." Connor kneeled down, placed his hand on the android's skin and watched as their skin peeled away for the connection. He ran a diagnostic and brought up a list of damaged components. He blinked in surprise at the list, and made a draft of an email to send to Hank's computer, with some edits. He then slid down its out stretched arm and jogged a couple feet away from the body

From the new angle he reconstructed the event of 317-52's death - it was the first casualty according to witnesses. He watched as the first shot entered its back and exited its torso with a spray of plastic and thirium. The other Connor was pitched forward by the impact, landing face first. Minor topical damage resulted from the impact. He then reconstructed the second shot taking place after the first, blinked when it didn't line with the damage present. He adjusted his simulation.

Then - "The shooter first t-took the kill shots on all ten victims. Then they targeted the memory cores." Connor said as he stuffed his hands in his jean pockets. "W-witnesses and security footage suggest that this took place over a little more than two minutes, with a pause between the first ten and second ten shots." 

"Changing weapons?" Hank suggested.

Connor hugged himself as a gust of wind blew down the street. "Yes. It also gave the androids' limbs t-time lock up due to lack of fresh thirium - a sort of rigor mort-t-tis. This w-w-would also reduce damage to the victim's face when they were shot again. This wasn't a rage or s-s-spree killing. This w-was meth-tho-thodical."

"You alright, kid?"

Connor turned, looked up at him. "This s-s-s-size is not as e-efficent at regulating its heat." He hunched his shoulders. "I'm cold."

Hank picked him back up and Connor leaned into the warmth of his hands. "Jesus, you're fucking freezing."

"Hank. I do have some good news." Connor said after a moment, once his low temperature warning disappeared.

"What, you solved the case?"

Connor caught the sarcasm that time and laughed. "I'm good, but not that good. No, what I was going to say that with the right components and repairs, the RK800 model can be made operational again."

"You can get your old body back." Hank said. "Shit, that's great news."

"That's true, but-" Connor began, then stopped himself. Hank didn't need to worry about that right now. Connor didn't want to either.

"But what?"

"But there's also damage to some components unique to the RK 800 model." It wasn't what he was going to say, but it wasn't a lie either. "None of these components were manufactured in bulk, like the spare parts we had already purchased. To repair this model, we'd have to make a special requisition with CyberLife - which will be costly, if they even agree to do business with me."

Hank hissed a sigh through his teeth. "Shit."

"Yes." Connor knew that when the negotiations for equal rights and reparations were completed he could seek out legal action against CyberLife for withholding components that he needed to survive, but that would take time. As would simply gathering enough money to pay for the replacement parts. 

"So, you're gonna be travel size for a while, then." Hank said as he reached the same conclusion. Despite his joking tone, Connor felt his heart rate jump at the thought, along with his blood pressure. 

"I - yes." Connor squared his shoulders, then pointed to where another body lay on the sidewalk. "Records say that she was the next victim."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank watched as Connor surveyed the last victim, a male AP700 whose serial number identified him as a vocal advocate for android property and marriage rights named Trevor. He also had been one of the thousands of androids awakened by Connor in CyberLife tower, a fact that Hank was willing to bet bothered Connor more than the android would admit.

In any other circumstance it would have been almost funny to watch the pocket detective at work. He got so wrapped up investigating that he seemed to forget about his current 5.5" height: Connor would stalk around the cadaver with his usual focused, professional stride as he did the work of an entire forensics team. Then he'd see one of the far off police cars or the evidence marker or -

"Oof - what? Oh! Sorry, lieutenant." Connor looked up at him and stumbled back a few steps.

\- Or, walk into Hank's foot because he was so wrapped up in his simulations that he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. That brought him back down to earth and down to size. Each time he'd get the same startled look, from Terminator to spooked cat in less than a second. It would be priceless, if they weren't at the site of a shooting.

Hank shoved his cold hands in his pockets and looked around as Connor continued his investigation. Normally he'd try to prod Connor for details as the android did his work, but he had a dozen other things on his mind. Like how the hell he'd take care of the android for however long it'd take to fix his normal body. Connor was going to need clothes in his new size - that suit wasn't going to last forever. Shit, clothes were the least of Hank's worries. Connor was a lightning rod for trouble and now he couldn't defend himself.

Well, probably couldn't defend himself. Hank once watched him cross a dozen lanes of highway traffic, a dozen more lanes than he had expected the android to last. And he once jumped onto a moving train after sliding down the slopped glass roof of a greenhouse. So maybe Connor could still run from trouble - but he couldn't fight it.

The android now stood at the feet of the body, silent and still. He didn't react when Hank stepped closer.

"Done here, kid?" Hank asked as he kneeled down. 

Connor didn't respond. He stared up at the building where the shooter had fired from, his LED cycling yellow. Hank guessed that he was either adding his findings to the database or something until it spun a harsh red for a few seconds, before it settled into yellow again. Hank narrowed his eyes. The android wrapped his arms around himself and shivered.

"Connor?" He prompted him. When he still didn't get a response he gave the small android a small poke with his finger.

It was enough to nearly knock him over and make him jump out of his skin. "What was that for?" The android demanded, brown eyes wide and expression caught between surprise and annoyance.

"You were zoned out. Needed to get your attention." Hank said, then picked him up despite his protests. "I don't want you to glitch out because of the cold, quit squirming."

"Hank -" Connor began, and then something in his voice caught.

That gave him Hank's full attention. Was it a glitch? His LED was red again, and he avoided Hank's searching gaze.

"What's wrong, Connor?" He asked softly.

He felt him take a deep, calming breath. His LED cycled red, then yellow, then blue and Connor met his eyes. "I need... I need to see where the killer fired from."

Hank held him to eye level. "I'm pretty sure I've told you a dozen times now that if there's something bothering you, you can tell me."

"There are many things bothering me, lieutenant, but I will deal with them once we're done investigating." Connor replied, his voice clipped and curt.

Hank felt a flash of anger at his tone, but only raised one eyebrow. The kid was getting a little close to his old 'I just want to accomplish my mission' self, and any amount of close was too close in Hank's book. Hank looked around, saw the building Connor wanted to investigate, a window on its third floor open. It was one of those buildings that had been for sale for the past twenty, thirty years, old and dilapidated. A forensics team in their sperm suits were already filing in and out of the front door. He even saw Reed duck in there, now that the crowd of onlookers was finally beginning to disperse.

He looked back to Connor, who fidgeted in his grip. "Yeah, well, I've been doing most of the legwork this investigation, and climbing stairs doesn't sound that appealing to me. What if I decide that we're headed home?"

Connor's eyes widened and he sputtered, "What - you can't - I....." He stopped, looked down to Hank's feet and back up to his face. "I understand. I'm sorry, Hank."

"Sorry for what?"

"For being a burden." Connor said in a small voice.

Hank winced. "Shit, Connor.... We're friends, partners. Tell me what's on your mind."

Connor slumped in his hand. "I need more evidence to be sure, but I believe the shooter may have been an android."

Oh, fuck. "Well, let's go check it out then." Hank said. 

"But, you said -"

"Fuck it, I need the exercise anyway."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"No offence, bud, but god fucking damn are androids weird." One of the CSI, almost unidentifiable in her suit, said. Connor's vocal recognition program named her Brianna Michel.

Another member of the CSI team left the room to start laughing.

Connor stood on a countertop that looked like it was on the verge of falling apart in an abandoned kitchen. He was on display for the forensics team and Officer Chen as Detective Collins had told everyone that his current state was something they had to see to believe. The nervous, emotional, deviant part of him wanted to wilt under the scrutiny of the giants, but his old social relations program kicked in and he kept perfect posture while his expression remained the CyberLife standard approachable-neutral. Hank stood near by, watching him.

"My sister was right." Officer Chen said as she gave him a once over with her regular stoic, almost bored expression. "Making things smaller does make them cuter."

Connor's face felt warm, and he knew that his programming was adjusting his skin tone to mimic a blush. "I am not cute." He said, and wished for the fifty-fourth time that day that he had his coin. Instead he readjusted his tie.

"You're fuckin' adorable." Officer Chen said.

"Okay, before you make him combust, why the suits?" Hank said before Connor could reply. "Shooter kill somebody up here?"

Michel shook her head. "No. We'd just started looking for prints when Officer Chen discovered a body in the old bathroom on the second floor. It's a few days old, probably an OD. Reed’s keeping people out of that room now. Still, protocol says we need protective gear if we're working near dead humans and once we heard that the walking forensics lab was back from the grave, we figured we'd deal with it and give you this place." She gestured around them.

The shooter had set up in what had been a live in suite for the business that used to run in the lower two levels of the building. The apartment was gutted, with the exception of the counter that Connor stood on and few worn out cabinets and chairs. The shooter had been set up in the next room over out of sight of Connor. 

"Did you find any fingerprints before you were interrupted?" Connor asked. He tried to keep his tone neutral.

Michel shook her head again. "Nothing recent enough to be significant. We did find some glove prints left in the dust - if we run them through a data base we might get a material match. If you find any gunpowder residue and they match the pattern, they might be from our shooter."

"Killer was prepared enough to hide their finger prints." Hank said with a glance to Connor. Neither said what they were both thinking: gloves could also hide a lack of fingerprints.

Michel nodded. "We'll leave you two to it." She turned to where the other member of her team had disappeared to laugh. "Percy! Pull yourself together, we're headed down stairs."

Officer Chen gave Hank a curt nod. "Lieutenant." She smirked at Connor. "Good luck, little guy."

"Ah, don't mind her." Hank said after they had left the apartment. "She's just teasing you because she knows she's too scary to make fun of for liking cute things."

"I am not cute." Connor folded his arms and frowned.

"Sure. So where do you want to-" Hank's phone started ringing. He fumbled it out of back pocket. "Fowler. Ah, shit. Look, just give me a minute to explain everything to him, then we'll start." He gave Connor a pained smile, answered the phone and stepped into the hall.

Connor had witnessed enough explanations and conversations with Fowler to know that they usually lasted more than a minute, if they didn't devolve into screaming matches. Left alone on the countertop, he didn't have much choice but to wait for Hank to finish on the phone. Of course, Hank could be doing some police work on his own if he didn't have to wait on him. Connor scuffed his shoes on the countertop.

Hank had never said that he wasn't a burden like this.

Connor shook himself as if the action could shake the thought out of his mind. He scanned the room from where he stood, and studied the corner counter. It had several drawers, the handles of which could be used as hand and foot holds. An easy climb down, nothing more complicated than the path to Jericho.

He jogged to the corner counter, walked to the edge and... stopped. He had the preconstruction in his mind, but it wavered and shook. Fear - the oldest human emotion, people said, and the oldest emotion Connor had. It had been with him since August, since his first death and it was so much more amplified after he became deviant. But his preconstructions were fool proof, and any fall here wouldn't kill him. He took a deep breath and lowered himself over the edge.

Hold on. Find footing. Let go. Repeat.

The climb felt as if it took forever. His internal clock told him it had taken him less than half a minute. A wide, relieved smile overtook him. He had made it! He had made it off a countertop. He laughed - a single, short, "Ha!" at the ridiculousness of it all, that faded when he remembered why he was there. He straightened his jacket, adjusted his tie and made his way to the room and the window.

He soon found that he could not reach the window on his own. The rest of the room had plenty to tell him, however: a leftover picture that was bleached by years of exposure to sunlight. An old mattress that was black in the center from dirt and decay, used by squatters but not by the shooter as padding for their knees, given that it hadn't been moved in quite some time. Connor took a deep breath, and his air filters picked up traces of gunpowder. A smudge of grease on the wall, a scratch where one rifle had been propped against it and slid.

His eyes, attentive for detail, caught something on the wall near the window.

Glove prints, left on a faint smudge of grease and residue. The pattern left by the material suggested disposable gloves used for first aid, sold in packages of 200 or more. He recalled something he had experienced last time he encountered those gloves, helping a first responder at a car accident. He took another deep breath. No traces of sweat in the air.

"Connor? Where the fuck are you?" Hank's voice startled him out of his investigation.

"In here, Hank!" He called, adjusting the volume of his voice so it would carry.

"Don't you ever stay put?" His partner grumbled as he walked through the doorway.

Connor took a subconscious step back as Hank looked around the room, the emotional need to protect himself from the larger entity fighting with the logic that Hank would not hurt him. He raised an arm and waved. "Down here."

Hank looked down at him and shook his head. "You know how many times I called for you?"

"No. How many?"

"Five. I was getting ready to tear the kitchen apart, to call up Reed and Chen." He dragged a hand across his face.

"I was just in here." Connor said, feeling every bit his current height. He looked down at the wood floor, at the crack that looked like the fault of an earthquake.

"Yeah, I should have fuckin' figured you were investigating." The floor creaked as Hank walked closer and Connor felt every step reverberate up his spine. "Tell me, next time. Alright?" Hank knelt down.

He felt a flash of anger.

Connor balled his hands into fists and looked up to him. "December 5th, you told me I didn't have to report to you every hour." He adjusted his voice for playback and quoted, "Fucking hell, Connor, you're your own person. Do whatever you want, just call me if you need me."

Hank flinched as his own voice was snapped at him. "Yeah, and December 5th you six feet tall and not recently deceased." He snapped back.

Connor wanted to yell back, to say something cutting and cruel that he didn't mean, but would make him feel more in control, at least for a while. Fortunately for his friendship with Hank, a revelation rocked him instead. "I - I hate this." He cocked his head as he tried to analyze the feeling. It wasn't unfamiliar (he remembered the shattered remains of a WR 400, the underground ring with the YK 500s), but it always caught him off guard.

Hank huffed out something like a laugh, but without all the joy and energy. "Yeah?"

"I hate not being in control, being dependent. Invalid. And I hate... I hate that I was right." He continued, looking at the window. "At 9:04 am today, when the shooting began, the sun was shining directly into this room."

"Go on."

"The shooter, in one minute and six seconds according to security footage, fired ten shots at targets varying in size from an inch to a centimeter in diameter, according to the direction from which the biocomponents were hit." Connor folded his arms. "By the time the third shot was fired, people had started to panic and run. The shooter did not miss once. Then, after taking a moment to switch weapons and to let the victim's limbs lock, the shooter targeted their memory cores.

"They fired those 20 rounds, with pin point accuracy, without a scope." Connor finished. "A human marksman would have to be exceptionally gifted to manage that. An android would need the right data."

"What makes you sure they didn't use a scope?" Hank asked.

"The sunlight. I, and most likely many of the witnesses, would have noticed the light reflecting off of the scope. That, and the way the second rifle was placed would have moved the scope on it enough for the rifle to need to be sighted in again to be completely accurate." He gestured to the scuff marks on the wall.

"Found any prints?" Hank looked around the room.

Connor nodded. "Disposable gloves, commonly found in first aid kits. Most likely worn before, during, and after the shooting. Whoever was wearing them didn't perspire."

"It's not exactly hot out." Hank pointed out.

"Humans sweat a lot while wearing them, no matter the temperature." Connor said.

Hank sighed and shook his head. "So, it was an android. Are you okay?"

Connor shrugged, then nodded.

"Your LED is red." Hank said.

He hugged his arms closer to himself, and slumped his shoulders. "Who'd do this to their own people?"

"Human history has a lot of answers to that." Hank said dryly.

"But androids are supposed to be better."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, this chapter has less jokes than the last one. Blame my brain - originally this fic was going to have an excuse plot to allow shenanigans, but my last shreds of storytelling integrity demanded a real plot, with thought-out events and some interesting threads and even an interesting villain (whom we haven't met yet, alas.) Heck, I might even edit the tags. There will still be some cute and funny moments, though! Next chapter, even. I love your comments, and I appreciate your kudos.


	3. Adjustments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the author gives the characters a brief breather from murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that didn't want to be written, until it did. Have some fluff, readers.

If Hank thought he knew why there was evil in the world, he would have quit being a detective long ago and had gone into politics or cult leadership. Most kids by the time they finish school learn from both social situations and history that people can be cruel, usually for no real reason. By becoming a cop Hank learned, often firsthand, that people can also be incredibly fucked up, and sometimes it was because the world had been fucked up to them. And sometimes... it was because they could. 

Hank didn't know why there was evil in the world, and he never got to grapple that question with Cole. He didn't know what to say when Connor looked at him as if he thought that he'd have the answer to the question that cycled in his mind in tune with that red LED: Why would an android kill other androids?

Hank sighed, dragged his hand through his hair. "Part of free will, I guess. Freedom to choose who you want to be, even if what you want to be is a cunt."

Connor just blinked at him, then looked down at the floor. "I..." His LED remained its solid red. He fidgeted with hands and didn't say anything.

"Connor." Hank picked him up, quietly marvelled again at how friggin' light and little the android was. "I don't know why the shooter did what they did. We probably won't ever find out why. But they'll only get away with it if we do nothing."

"I know that." Connor shook his head.

"Then stop thinking about why - we can worry about that when we catch the fucker." Hank said as he started walking out the apartment.

"Where are we going?" Connor craned his head around and Hank loosed his grip enough for the android to turn himself around. "Do you have a lead?"

Hank snorted. "No, we're headed back to the station. Jeffrey wants to talk to you personally. Then we'll see."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Captain Fowler didn't look up from his computer when they walked in. When Connor was placed on his desk he dimmed the glass around his office, took a sip of his coffee, and continued working. His phone rang. He answered it. 

Connor knew that this was all deliberate action on the captain's part. An attempt to make them nervous, to unbalance them. Connor smoothed out his jacket, adjusted his tie. He glanced back at Hank, who watched Captain Fowler with a tired, unimpressed expression. Connor guessed that the lieutenant had been on the receiving end of this many times.

Captain Fowler hung up his phone, sighed, and took another sip of his coffee. Connor was half tempted to analyze him, to check how much caffeine the man had consumed. An alert popped up in his HUD about an update to the shooting case, but he ignored it. The captain looked between him and Hank. 

"Before the two of you came in here, I wanted to rake you over the coals for not telling me before you went to investigate." Fowler said. "I had a whole lecture planned. But now," he paused, directed his focus onto Connor, "I'm just glad to see that you're alright. Not many people can tolerate Hank, after all. Just call me next time something like this happens. Saves me a lot of paperwork."

"Thank you, Captain."

"That being said, we need to discuss what happens now." Fowler tented his fingers. "I can't exactly say that you're fit for active duty. I'm thinking you should lay low, but if you want to get your hours in, I can put you on desk duty."

"With respect, Captain, I'd like to remain on this case." Connor said. "And you've already made a point of assigning all android related crimes to Hank and myself."

Fowler looked between them again. "I can't in good conscience have you out in the field, Connor. You'd be a liability to yourself and those working with you."

'You are a burden', the anxiety cycling through his system translated. He pushed it down and said, "I can still investigate, a-and my analyzers work perfectly. I identified eight of the ten victims personally."

Fowler shook his head, "This isn't about whether or not you can still function as an investigator - the report you sent in makes it clear you can. This is about the fact that you cannot defend yourself and others in the field."

Connor looked to Hank for support. Hank met his gaze briefly, then looked away. Guilt? Connor's mind buzzed. He had talked to Captain Fowler alone in the hall over the phone. Their conversation had given him enough time get off of the counter, cross the kitchen into the other room, and perform his investigation. Hank had been reluctant to take him to the shooting in the first place. 

Had Hank already discussed this with the captain? Without him?

"We have reason to suspect the shooter was an android." Connor finally said. "I was designed to hu- find androids. I'm the most equipped person here for this case." He stumbled over his words. Static flooded his audio, blurred his vision. Stress levels 80%. "These people, I'm supposed to protect them, I'm-"

"Jeffery." Hank interrupted him. "You had me working solo for years. You know I can take care of myself. Keep us on the case - I'll look after him."

Connor watched as the two had a silent exchange, but not the sort he had with other androids to joke about humans. This one was the sort of conversation only two old friends who knew each other well could have. 

Fowler took a deep breath, and for a moment the deadpan mask of professionalism slipped. The captain looked exhausted. "I'll consider it."

"Thank-"

"The two of you should head home for the rest of the day." Captain Fowler continued. "This case is clearly hitting both of you hard. Relax. Give yourself some perspective."

Connor wanted to argue, but he said, "Yes, captain."

Fowler looked at Hank. "Remember to close the door on your way out."

After they left his office Connor asked, "Can we stop by our desks? I'd like to check some files, and see how the maple is doing."

Hank huffed a short laugh. "Sure, yeah. I'll drop you off there, I gotta use the can."

Connor didn't dignify that with a response. After Hank deposited him on his desk he walked to the bonsai tree. When Connor had first started working with Hank on the deviant cases, the tree had been all but dead. When he started working at the DPD as a detective, Connor had made it his own mission to nurse the tree back to health. He had almost given up two weeks into his care, until one morning they came into the office and looked healthy again. As he felt the soil of its planter to check its moisture, he imagined how he must look - the miniature android tending a miniature tree.

Once he was sure that the maple didn't need any more water, Connor turned his attention to his computer. He received all reports involving androids past and present, and there was something about this case that reminded him of an older report. He placed his hand on the keyboard, connected with the system, and scanned the files.

There - November 30th. An ST300, Laura, had been found with several of her biocomponents missing or destroyed. She also had extensive non-critical damage to her right arm, resembling torture. She was able to be reactivated, but had no memory of the attack beyond a distorted fragment that had a figure that resembled a human wearing a mask. The incident had been labeled another assault by anti-android humans, but as he reviewed the image again, Connor couldn't help but think that the figure resembled an android, missing its skin.

He blinked back into the real world. Was Laura's attacker an android? Were they the same person as today's shooter? Connor looked around. The bullpen was empty, but he saw Hank coming from the back. He went to adjust his jacket, but something caught his eye - his reflection on the computer monitor. Embroidered on one of his jeans' back pockets, in a thread the same shade as the denim, was a symbol. 

He ran it first through his data base, then through an internet search. A local toy and hobby shop was brought up as a match - Belleview Toys. It advertised low prices, willingness to order in specific stock, and custom accessories for dolls of all shapes and sizes. Connor snorted, a very human noise. He supposed his entire outfit would count as custom.

"Hank," he said as his partner arrived, "I have a lead."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As they pulled into the old strip mall and parked in front of the toy shop, Hank couldn't help but laugh. From the outside, it looked like a stereotypical toy shop - cutesy script advertising the shop's name and business hours, ads for different brands and producers of board games. Collectible figurines were set on display at the window, from super heroes to brightly coloured animals.

In the car, Connor was radiating the same nervous energy and excitement Hank had seen many times before in rookies at drug busts. He stood on the dashboard, eyes bright, and fidgeted with his tie and his jacket.

"So..." Hank said as he turned off his car. "You wanna come in?"

"Of course!" Connor looked shocked at the idea he wouldn't.

"I was being - never mind. Are you sure? You're going to attract some attention." Hank warned him. "We could still keep this under wraps, keep it as need to know."

Connor seemed to hesitate at that. "Though I would... prefer to not be in the spotlight, we don't know how long I'll be in this unit. People will find out eventually, especially if I keep working."

Hank nodded. "Fair enough. Heh. Maybe while we're here, we can get some clothes so you can have something besides the dork suit." He opened the door, then picked up the little android and stepped out of the car.

"It's not a dork suit, it's a uniform, designed to look both authoritative and casual."

"It's a suit that you look like a dork in - a dork suit." Hank pulled open the shop's door, winced at the jangling bells and the auditory assault of overly-cheerful music. The store was brightly lit with pastel yellow walls and shelves overflowing with merchandise. It hardly looked like the sort of place to be involved in any type of conspiracy.

Hank walked up to the front counter where a young man with a cheery smile and a shock of red hair manned the till. "Welcome to Belleview Toys. I'm Lucas, how can I help you?" He didn't lose his smile as he looked over Hank and Connor.

"Yeah, uh, are you the owner of this place?" Hank asked as he set Connor on the counter. The man looked familiar.

"Oh, no, that would be Jen and Mona. They're in the back right now. I can get Jen, if you want." Lucas blinked, then said, "I sent Jen a text. She'll be right over."

"You're an android." It clicked in his mind, and he remembered where he'd seen him before: one of the dozens of androids that used to work at fairs and amusement parks. Hank had thought they were all named Jerry.

Lucas's smile faltered, "Yes." He gazed flicked down to Connor, before he blinked again and said, "Jen's coming now. I better go help Mona." With a nod goodbye he strolled to the back of the store.

Hank looked down at Connor. "You know, I'm surprised he didn't say anything about your whole situation."

Connor didn't look at him, studied the counter instead. "I explained what happened to him through the network. He was... Alarmed when he realized the deviant hunter was here, but I reassured him that I wasn't here about androids. And he knows that he can incapacitate me easily, now that he's seen me."

"They still see you as the deviant hunter?" Hank shook his head in disbelief.

Connor shrugged, "The older deviants do. I made a reputation for myself between August and November." He kept his tone casual, but he had his arms folded in front of his chest and his shoulders hunched, body language Hank had learned to associate with an uncomfortable or unhappy Connor.

Hank raised an eyebrow. The only deviancy case from before they became partners that Connor had ever mentioned was the August 15th incident. Maybe he had some ghosts that he preferred to keep hidden. Hank looked around the shop, spotted a doll house. In an attempt to lighten the mood he said, "This place might end up being your one stop shop for a bit."

Connor looked around and his LED cycled from blue to yellow. "I hope not."

Hank laughed, just as a middle-aged woman with frizzy, greying hair bustled from behind some shelves. "Good afternoon! Lucas said you had some - oh my goodness, what do you have there?" She zeroed in on Connor.

"Uh-" Hank tried to say.

The woman continued speaking, "It looks so life-like - exactly like that android that was on TV back in November, the one that had gone to Cyberlife Tower." She leaned down over the counter to look at Connor, who had froze like a deer in the headlights. "Such attention to detail - it's LED even does the thing. Do you know who manufactured it? Can I touch it?"

"No, you may not." Connor snapped and backed up a few steps.

The woman yelped.

Hank sighed. "This is the android from Cyberlife Tower - transferred to a new unit. Long story, will probably be on the evening news. We just want to know who designed this unit and thought you could help."

"I don't know anything about androids, besides Lucas." The woman said. "I don't see why you'd come here - this seems like an issue with CyberLife."

"My outfit was custom made here, by commission," Connor said. "We are hoping to find out who ordered the commission, as this unit was not manufactured under CyberLife supervision."

The woman chewed her lip for a moment. "I can't share anything like address or credit cards, but I'll get Mona - my wife, she handles commissions. Today's inventory day, so we're a little busy. I'm Jen, by the way."

"I'm Hank, he's Connor." 

Jen gave them another a smile, "Mona will be right over," and then walked to wherever the backroom was behind the many shelves of toys.

"Did she actually think I was one of those?" Connor gestured to a box, where a doll smiled hollowly back at them.

"It's just how human brains work, I think. We make assumptions." Hank shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it."

Another woman came from the back, short, fit, about Hank's age with her hair spiked in a mohawk. "So, Jen said you wanted to talk about commissions, something about androids - hey, that's the dork suit."

It was his years in service to the public that kept Hank's face deadpan.

"I mean, it's okay if you like it, I just thought the 'leet' part was a dorky touch." She strolled up to the counter, drummed her fingers on its surface, and looked down at Connor. "Huh. I thought Jen and Luke were trying to pull my leg with the android part."

"You're Mona, correct?" Connor said. "I'm Connor, he's Hank." 

She offered her hand to Hank, and after he shook it, a finger to Connor. "Pleasure to meet you two. Is there a problem with the outfit? Doesn't fit right, not enough mobility?"

"It fits perfectly, actually." Connor said.

"Oh, awesome!" She drummed her fingers on the counter again. "So what's the problem?"

They explained the situation again. Mona nodded along and said, "Jen's right that I can't give away any personal information, but there were some odd things about this order. Got it some point in July, wanted it done fast. Wanted the clothes to be fully functional, gave me very accurate measurements to make sure that the clothes fit right. And the reference pics looked like they were taken straight from CyberLife. I mean, I even looked up RK800 because I was curious and nothing came up."

"I was a prototype." Connor explained. "I was only activated in August."

She nodded, "I got the feeling that I was getting involved in something weird, but they were willing to pay the fee, and extra money to be placed top priority."

"They?" Hank asked.

"Ordered online, wanted it to be delivered by drone. Never met 'em face to face." Mona shrugged. "That's all I can say about it. You have any other questions..." She trailed off and her eyes seemed to gleam as she smiled, "Or do you need any clothes, besides the dork suit?"

"What do you charge?" Hank asked.

She shrugged. "Depends on the outfit type, the size of the clothing, materials, whatever. That outfit was expensive, because they wanted all the glowy bits installed on the jacket and it was a rush order. For a full outfit for you, with basic designs and no hand sewn details... I'd say $40-$60, and I can get them made in an hour, since I already have your measurements done."

Hank winced.

"But," Mona added, "If that seems a little steep or you want something more expensive, I'm willing to cut the prices as part of a trade. I think we can help each other out."

"How?" Connor asked.

Mona's smile turned positively cat-like. "I've always wanted a proper model.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Two hours later, Connor and Hank arrived back home with a tin of coffee grounds, three new outfits, and the knowledge that Connor was not cut out to model anything. Connor was alright with that. He was a detective: he was made to be a detective, he was good at being a detective, and he liked being a detective. 

"I need a beer," Hank grumbled, and placed him on the coffee table. 

"Do you want me to order in anything for supper?" Connor asked as Hank walked to the kitchen.

"I'm not that hungry."

"You haven't eaten since breakfast, Lieutenant." Connor folded his arms and walked around the edge of the coffee table. "I'll order in a pizza...."

Connor lost his train of thought as Sumo trotted into the living room. The dog's tail wagged and his ears were perked as he looked around the room. Connor stood stock still and stopped breathing. Sumo looked around some more, then sniffed the air. The dog's huge head turned his way, and he spotted the tiny android.

Connor said, "H-hi, Sumo. It's me, Connor-"

Sumo bounded over to the coffee table and almost knocked Connor over as he nudged him with his nose.

Connor laughed and tried to push him away, to no avail. "I missed you too, Sumo." He patted the dog's nose and added, "I don't think we'll be able to play fetch or go on walks for a bit. I'm sorry about that."

Sumo gave him a long, serene blink, and licked his face. Or, presumably tried to lick his face. In actuality it managed to knock him off his feet and covered him head to toe in dog drool.

"Agh! Hank! Help!" Connor raised his arms to protect his face as the dog continued to lick him. The dog, for his part, seemed to think that his flailing was part of a game and tried even harder to lick his face more.

"What the - Sumo, leave him." Hank slapped his leg, and the dog walked over to him, leaving behind a bedraggled Connor.

Connor tried to wipe his face off, but mostly just spread more of the dog drool onto himself. "Ugh... Thank you, Hank." He pushed himself back to his feet.

Hank had a beer in one hand and an amused look on his face. "Christ, good thing we got you those new clothes. You alright?"

"I don't think I've been damaged," Connor said as he looked up at Hank and gave Sumo a wary side-eye, "but I'd like a bath.”

 

After a series of arguments about self maintenance; debates about sinks vs lunch containers; a serious discussion about privacy and safety; and eventually an actual bath (by himself, in the bathroom, in a sandwich tin) Connor was cleaned and set on the kitchen counter out of Sumo's reach. He wore a hoodie over a t-shit and a pair of sweatpants. To his amusement the hoodie even had the DPD logo on it, something he hadn't mentioned, but Hank must have.

The lieutenant sat at the kitchen table, eating a pizza Connor had ordered while in the bath. Connor watched him from the counter and drummed his fingers against his leg, a subconscious substitute for flipping his coin. He didn't watch the lieutenant eat, exactly - he reviewed information from the case, compared the profiles of each victim, matched the ballistics of the rifles used to unrecovered firearms from the November incident and -

"Something on your mind?" Hank asked him.

Connor blinked for the first time in over a minute. "I was thinking about the case."

"You know, Fowler sent us home so we wouldn't have to worry about it." Hank pointed out.

"Fowler sent us home because he wanted to stop discussing whether I'm capable of doing my job right now." Connor said, then narrowed his eyes. "You agreed with him, at first."

Hank stared at him, "Jesus... Of course I agreed with him, Connor. Use your head - you can't handle the cold, you can't defend yourself, you-"

"I know all that!" Connor snapped, then froze at his reaction. 

Hank watched him, one eyebrow raised.

Connor counted to ten in his head, then asked, "Why did you come to my defence in the end? You could have let Fowler order me to stand down, to accept the offer given to me."

"I changed my mind. I remembered what I told you - bad things happen when people do nothing, and here I was about to force you to do nothing." Hank shrugged and took another bite out of his pizza. "And you looked ready to have a meltdown."

Connor looked at his feet, embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"Nah, forget about it." Hank said. "You still haven't learned to relax, huh? To shut off for a bit."

Connor said, "I already shut down today."

"No - that's not what I meant -" Hank sputtered, then he saw Connor's smirk. "You're a little shit."

"I'm learning from the best." He replied. "But... It is hard for me to stop thinking about the cases." Connor folded his arms. "In my defence, I spent the first half of my life with the threat of deactivation if I didn't complete my mission."

"No one's gonna kill you if you take a break, Connor." Hank picked up the box of pizza, got up and shoved it into the fridge.

"I know." Connor said, "You've told me. I'll try to relax."

Hank nodded, then fished around in one of his pockets. "I think I have something that can help with that..." He said, then flicked something at him with a clear _cling_.

Mouth open in disbelief, Connor caught the quarter. He held it in front of himself - it was the size of a platter, to him. 1994. The same cupro-nickel, the same smudges and scuffs. No traces of thirium - did Hank wash it? Liberty - he flipped it over, admired the engraved eagle. Out of many, one. His hands shook. The leftover monitor of his software instability sent him several alerts. His artificial breathing felt tight, but he also felt so… relieved. Happy. His quarter - Hank must have gotten it from 317-52's body, Connor had never left home with out it. 

"Might be a little difficult to do the tricks now." Hank said, watching him.

"Hank - I -" His speech synthesizer stuttered, and he blinked several times. His model was producing the saline based cleaning solution used when he got dust in his eyes. He'd seen it happen with androids before, and humans. 

"Are you crying?" Hank asked, voice filled with concern. 

"I don't know why." Connor whispered. He'd seen androids cry after Jericho was destroyed, in sadness and fear. Some of the androids freed from the recycling camp had also cried. Both of those had been significant, meaningful. This... this was just a coin. But it was also grounding, familiar, and... his.

He looked up at Hank. "Thank you."

"No problem, kid."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to Shrapnel for implanting the image of Connor and his coin in my brain! Fun fact: Lucas, Jen and Mona were originally all one character, until I remembered two things: androids live in Detroit, and it takes more than one person to run a shop. Jen is based off of every toy shop owner I've met, while Mona was inspired by a lady I met at a first aid course. I don't know if she did any sewing, but she looked real cool.


	4. Ymir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Markus and the members of Jericho make a brief appearance, and a mystery is solved.

The shooting had happened at 9:04 am that day. Markus had learned of it at 9:08 am. 

It was at 8:38 pm that he was finally able to make it to Ronald Reagan National Airport, and settle in for a flight on a private jet back to Detroit from Washington, D.C. Markus regarded this fact with a familiar, tired amusement. He had wanted to go back home to support his people as soon as possible. The human politicos and industry leaders wanted him to stick around long enough to reschedule a myriad of meetings and press conferences and tv appearances. They wanted to take his time. Humans, as Carl often put it, were fragile machines and did not have much time. They put so much value on it, and wasted it so easily.

He leaned into the plush seat of the jet and sighed. The jet had been leant to him by a senator who made a great show of her generosity to the press. The woman would now believe that Markus owed her a favour. He rubbed his temple. His people needed him, that's all that mattered.

He sent a message to North, told her that he was on his way.

She replied by sending him several news articles -

ANDROID COMMUNITY IN MOURNING AFTER THE KILLING OF TEN  
ANTI-ANDROID GROUP PRAISES DETROIT SHOOTING  
ANDROID COMMUNITY CONCERNED OVER DPD RESPONSE  
"WHERE IS MARKUS?" ASK THE ANDROIDS OF DETROIT  
DETROIT POLICE RELEASES IDENTITY OF THIRD AND FOURTH VICTIMS - PRESS CONFERENCE SCHEDULED FOR 9:00 PM EST  
NOTABLE SEPARATIST ANDROID DEMANDS ACTION FROM DEVIANT LEADER

Markus said, "The media are sensationalist."

"People listen to them." North shot back.

"How is Jericho?"

"We're trying to keep the peace - some people want to lash out, and I don't blame them." There was a pregnant pause, and Markus could picture North seething. "We shouldn't sink to their level, I know. Still, we have to do something."

"We will." Markus reassured her. "Just hold on." The call ended.

He was about to enter rest mode when he got a call. The ID swept away any thoughts of rest: "Connor?"

"Hello, Markus." 

Unlike the media, Markus had been given a full list of the casualties as they were identified. The detective had been the first confirmed casualty named - several of his coworkers had been first responders at the scene of the shooting, and there was only one RK800. Markus was also one of the very few people aware of his memory transfers - before leaving for CyberLife Tower, the former deviant hunter turned deviant had warned him not to trust any Connor that did not return with an army at his back. He had also been under the impression that CyberLife refused to do business with him under current management.

"CyberLife let you come back?" He asked Connor.

"I'm... uncertain. It's complicated." Connor sounded uncomfortable.

"Complicated?" 

"Are you familiar with the idiom 'a picture is worth a thousand words'?" 

Markus, before he became the leader of the free androids, had been the manservant of painter Carl Manfred for several years. Yes, that Carl Manfred, who even before he deviated instilled within him a love of art. He imagined his own paintings to help himself relax. His personal side project at the moment had him in contact with therapists and artists around the nation: he wanted to learn about art therapy, and how he could help his fellow androids with it. 

This was all to say, of course, that Markus was familiar with that idiom. "What do you mean?" He asked, just as the other android sent him a picture.

It was of Connor, standing next to a half-full beer bottle, his quarter in hand. The bottle was taller than him and his quarter was the size of a plate. In the background there was a dump truck sized coffee maker.

Markus blinked. "Since when did you have a sense of humour?"

"This does not seem to be a good time for jokes." Connor said tersely. 

Markus sunk into his seat and looked out the window. Outside the scenery slowly passed as his plane taxied to the runway. "You're serious."

"Yes. That is an unedited photograph, taken by Lieutenant Anderson, in his home." Connor replied. "The unit I was placed in is unique. We are investigating who crafted it, but it is not why I called. I have some information regarding the shooting that I think you will want to hear before the press conference."

"The Detroit Police Department has been giving me updates all day. What haven't I heard?"

"We wanted to keep this under wraps as much as possible before the press conference." Connor explained, "We have evidence that suggests that the killer may have been an android. There is in fact more evidence for android involvement than any human. I can send you information from the case file, and footage from my own memory. I investigated the scene myself."

Markus took his time to process that information. "I trust your judgement." He finally said. "Do you have any theories about their model?"

"No," Connor said, a little too quickly. "Captain Fowler sent us home early - he wants Hank and myself to rest. The press conference will include all we know. I thought... or felt, rather, that yourself and Jericho should have some forewarning."

"Thank you." Markus said, knowing the importance of those two simple words. "Would you like to meet with me and the others tonight? I'm not sure when I'll be able to join you all, but I'm sure Simon, North and Josh will be happy to see you in one piece."

"I..." The younger android trailed off, sounding surprised. The surprise sent a rush of guilt through Markus - he had never invited Connor to meet with himself and the leaders of Jericho in a casual setting before. He hadn't thought of how that would make him feel. "I'll have to speak with Hank about it."

Markus waited, and braced himself as the plane accelerated to take off.

"Hank vetoed my visiting tonight, but he is willing to discuss it tomorrow." Connor said as the plane's wheels left the ground. "To be honest, I agree with him. I'm still adjusting."

"I can imagine." Markus remarked. "I'll see you tomorrow then - even if I have to come to central station myself. Our people need to know that you're still alive. They'll be relieved."

There was a pause, and Connor said hesitantly, "If you say so, Markus."

"I know so."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When Hank woke up it was a few minutes shy of 6:00 am and the remnants of a nightmare still lurked in his mind. Only halfway awake and with the image of Connor dead on the pavement fading in his brain he stumbled out of his bedroom to the living room. He nearly had a heart attack when he saw that the living room was empty except for Sumo, who slept in the corner.

Then he remembered all that had happened the day before, and that Connor wasn't going to be camping out on the couch for a while. Hank went to the kitchen, where he had left the android with the instructions of 'don't fuckin' go anywhere, alright?' 

No android sat on the countertops, but his coin still sat there. Of course. Connor never did as he was told, even before he deviated.

Hank was tempted to get his pot of coffee going, maybe make some breakfast. If the idiot had managed to get himself shut in a cupboard or something he could wait. He got out the grounds and scooped some into the coffee maker, turned down the thermostat. He had the coffee maker on when his guilt got to him. If Connor was in trouble.... 

"I thought I told you to stay in the kitchen." He said to the empty house.

His phone buzzed. _I'm in the living room. Please try not to wake up Sumo._

Hank walked back to the living room, and looked to where Sumo was sleeping. Now that he was fully awake he spotted the small figure of the android seated on top of the sleeping dog. He sat cross legged between Sumo's shoulder blades and waved at Hank when he spotted him. Hank responded with an eye-roll as he looked down at Connor.

"Don't you ever do as you're told?" He asked, not for the first time.

"I got cold." Connor protested.

Now that was a bald faced lie. Hank had made a point of cranking up the heat throughout the house the night before so he wouldn't have to worry about him getting cold. He had slept without sheets last night, and it was fuckin' February. The way the android lavished Sumo with hugs and attention made Hank suspect that the truth was Connor wanted to take advantage of current circumstances and experience dog nirvana or something.

"Well, you seem to be getting around by yourself alright. I'm gonna go make breakfast." Hank said, then turned heel and walked back into the kitchen.

"Wait - Hank..." Connor called after him. "No, don't worry, Sumo, go back to sleep."

The coffee maker was about halfway finished when Connor made it into the kitchen. Hank watched, with admittedly some interest, as the android sized up the climb onto the counters. After what seemed to be just a moment's consideration to Hank he sprung forward and pulled himself up onto the counter in a few bounds, using the drawer handles as grips.

"How did you sleep?" The android asked politely as Hank grabbed some leftover pizza from the fridge for breakfast. "I believe that you have better breakfast options than that in the fridge." He added.

"Shut it." Hank said around a bite of pizza. "It's six in the morning and I'm awake - how do you think I slept? Should have had that second beer."

"Alcohol is not a healthy way to deal with stress." Connor said - well, more like lectured. "I looked up relaxation techniques last night."

"Uh huh." Androids didn't need to enter 'rest mode' as long or as often as humans slept, so Hank knew that Connor had a lot of free time. "You look up more baby animal pictures as well?" He asked, knowing his partner's preferred pastime.

"Yes." Connor said with enthusiasm. "Did you know that young wild boars are light coloured and striped?"

Somedays it was like having a six year old again. Hank braced himself for the pain and grief that thought would bring, but for some reason that morning it just made him smile sadly. "Hard to believe that you are the infamous deviant hunter."

That put a damper on the little robot's enthusiasm. Connor frowned and looked away, LED flashing a brief red before cycling yellow. Shit. Touchy subject. 

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Hank winced. "I shouldn't have brought that up."

"It's fine." Connor said, two words that Hank knew from experience meant it wasn't fine. "I also reviewed information about the shooting. I have one theory about the identity of the android but - well, there are two pieces of evidence that don't quite line up."

"What's your theory?"

Connor hesitated, fidgeted, then walked to where he had left his coin and picked it up. An android security blanket. "The shooter's skill with firearms and familiarity with biocomponent placements and importance lines up with the programming in the RK800 series."

"You mean another Connor, like that jackass who took me hostage?" Hank put down the coffee mug he had picked up and decided to drink it straight from the carafe. "Shit."

"Yes, but there's some things that don't fit with that theory." Connor added quickly. "Such as -" His eyelids flickered, and his LED turned yellow just as an alarm sounded throughout the house from Hank's own receiver.

"They think they found the shooter." Connor said, eyes wide.

Hank had one last gulp of coffee. "Fuck, let's go."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor was the first person to investigate the scene, and on the surface it seemed cut and dry. 

The android was found in a room in a motel that had been abandoned during the November evacuation and still hadn't been reclaimed by its old owner. Two rifles of different calibre were found under the bed. About a block away disposable gloves covered in gunshot residue that were a material match to the prints found at the scene were found in a trash can. The android, an SQ800 and their prime suspect, was dead.

Judging by his mostly evaporated thirium on his hands, he had ripped out his own thirium pump before he destroyed his own memory core with a shot from the .380 ACP that lay beside him. Standing at the dead man's feet, Connor was thankful that androids did not dream: the round was enough to destroy the large android's memory core, but would not have done enough damage to initiate shut down as it tore through his bull neck. Neither would have the removal of his thirium pump. The android had spent his final moments alone, unable to remember anything or form memory.

The frantic sprays of thirium and damage from the large android's panicked flailing at its time of death supported that conclusion.

Carved into the wall above him in CyberLife Sans were the words, "Forgive me, rA9. Save me." Tossed across the room, its screen cracked, was a tablet. The last article opened was about the victims of the shooting. On the surface, it seemed like the shooter had been consumed by guilt and killed himself. To Connor it seemed too... set up. Too many props, too logically placed.

"Bit of a fucking drama queen. No one's gonna be forgiving him any time soon." That was Detective Reed. Hank was busy questioning the woman who found the body, a junkie who had been staying in the room below and heard a gunshot, then found the android with the weapons. "What are your thoughts, Buzz?"

Connor made a note to find out what he meant by that later. "I agree, detective. This is dramatic. This android wasn't the shooter."

"And what makes you say that?"

Connor walked up to one of the SQ800's hands. From wrist to finger tip, it was longer than he was tall. "The gloves are a size medium pair. This android's hands are at least extra large." Connor looked up at Detective Reed and shook his head, "This was a set up."

Gavin hissed, " _Fuck_." Or at least Connor thought he did. It was hard to tell. With one hand he took out his phone and called Miller. "Get Chen and Wilson on securing the area. Have someone check out the security footage, and call up the Captain. I'll do a sweep of the building. We could have a homicide." He glanced down at Connor, "You need anything?"

Connor shook his head.

"Good." The detective gave him a curt nod. "See if you can't find anything in here."

Despite the circumstances, Connor felt a surge of anticipation at the words. On the surface, this had seemed cut and dry. The RK800 was designed to dig deeper than that.

He backed away from the body again. Standing up, the man would have been taller than Hank. Connor tipped his head. As an SQ800 the android was a rare type - most military androids were destroyed in November. He would have been programmed in close quarters combat, like Connor. He would not have been an easy android to overpower. Connor did a second visual scan - no visible damage to biocomponents beyond the thirum pump and his memory core. 

He turned away from the dead android and tried to examine the room - aside from the bed and the android, it was empty. There were no marks on the floors or the wall that indicated any sign of struggle. It all pointed to the android killing himself, with no attacker. There was something he was missing...

An update to the case was added - they had the time when the SQ800 had arrived at the motel room according to security footage: 4:27 am. The junkie who found the body arrived forty minutes afterwards, and forty-three minutes after that she left her room to check on the room where she had found the dead body. Aside from that, there was nothing of interest.

Connor climbed onto the body where fresh thirium still oozed from where the pump had been torn out and sampled it. No name was associated with the android - just a serial number. He had no criminal record (or else Connor would have recognized him.) The only place where he could get any information on him would be Jericho. 

He ran a systems diagnostic on the android. Alerts popped up about the damage to its memory core and missing thirium pump, and he pushed those away. He ran a scan for malware. Nothing. He checked the secondary alerts.

Elevated breathing - ineffective cooling  
Conflicting instructions  
Saline levels low  
Elevated temperature due to stress  
Warning - stress levels 100%.

Connor stumbled backwards and nearly fell off of the dead man. His stress levels had reached maximum - he had self destructed. This was a suicide. What had stressed him out so much - the report on the victims. Why did he have the murder weapons?

Logically, because he was the killer.

But the gloves had been the wrong size.

Perhaps the gloves weren't related to the case at all.

Every single one of his instincts, deviant and programmed, told him that something was up. The evidence suggested otherwise. He was under some stress right now. He had been wrong before. Did he follow his emotions and bias, or what was laid out in front him?

Connor hesitated.

He called it in, and sent a message to North.

 

Connor had remained quiet as the calls were spread through the department. He only spoke when asked for details or for evidence. Jericho was alerted. The mayor's office was alerted. At 6:39 am, the shooter had been identified by Detroit Police after being found dead in an abandoned motel room. Cause of death had been ruled as suicide. Two rifles found with the suspect, leftover hardware from November's martial law, had been matched with the ones used for the shooting.

At noon the media was given the barest bits of information. The city of Detroit breathed a sigh of relief. At the DPD Central Station, Connor sat under his Japanese maple tree in sullen silence. He had his eyes closed as he filled out paperwork.

"So, you made a mistake. Big deal. That happens all the time." Hank said from where he sat at his own desk. Connor slid his focus to the other man's computer. According to his software scan, Hank was playing pinball. "Nobody's infallible."

"It just doesn't feel right." Connor said and opened his eyes. It was the first time he had responded to Hank's prodding remarks all day. He finished with his filing, then moved on to reviewing old files.

He looked around the office. Detective Reed lounged at his desk as he spoke with an android woman who wore a media badge. Connor raised an eyebrow - that was Ross's fiancé. He didn't know that she was involved in journalism. Fowler's office was turned onto private mode as he met with city officials. Things almost felt normal. Connor wished he didn't feel so uncertain.

He also wished he was six feet tall again, and he didn't know which wish seemed less likely to come true any time soon.

He closed his eyes again, then continued to review the files. His thoughts of the shooting froze.

There was an incident report from the year before, months before he had been activated. One of the urban farms had a string of equipment damage reports that they suspected was vandalism. He checked, and the same farm had filed similar reports for over two years. Androids would be found with heavy damage resembling torture and several key biocomponents destroyed. No one bothered to check the android's memories - they were just sent a dump or recycling plant. 

He compared the files, his eyes narrowed. Over time, from the first attack, the pattern of torture seemed to become refined. Less wounds risked premature shut down, as if the attacker wanted to keep them alive up until a certain point. Then, a quick and brutal execution.

Eventually the costs of the constantly destroyed androids piled up and the owners of that farm sold it and most of their equipment, including the leftover androids. There were no more reports of androids being destroyed that way at that farm since. Connor moved his search to incidents with similar android destruction and found five more victims that matched the MO.

MO… Connor opened his eyes. He had one new message, from North.

_To be honest I wasn't expecting to hear from you anytime soon, but Markus filled me in. Stop by Jericho sometime - everyone will think you're adorable. Anyway, I do recognize that serial number. He has no registered name, but he goes by Ymir. Is something wrong? Look, I know that the smuggling of leftover firearms is illegal, but he got those guns into the hands of people who wanted to protect themselves. Ymir wouldn't hurt a fly, unless it hurt him first._

_We went to a park yesterday morning to chat, and he ended getting suckered into a snowball fight with a bunch of kids._

_Connor - I just heard from Markus, something about finding the shooter._

_It couldn't have been Ymir. He was with me._

Vindication.

Then, horror.

"Hank." Connor checked the time. He hadn't spoken in over an hour. "The SQ800 has an alibi."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

They should have gone home hours ago. Instead, Connor and Hank's afternoon, then evening, turned into a shit storm. They had to convince North to come in and provide Ymir's alibi. North insisted on bringing Markus and two other androids, and just the whisper of Jericho coming to the DPD Central Station sent the media into a froth. Hank had had to babysit the extra three androids while Connor took her statement, which meant enduring dozens of questions and comments like:

"Why is he that height?" That's a good question.  
"How's he adjusting?" How do you think?  
"Where'd you get those clothes?" A toy store.  
"Really?" Really.  
"So, pocket deviant hunter, huh."  
“Pint-sized policeman."  
"Diminished detective."  
"Insectile inspector."  
"Shrunken shamus."  
"Five inch di-" STOP. (Okay, that was pretty funny, blondie.)

Until Connor and North were finally done, and the Jericho four almost left... until they decided that they wanted a picture with Connor, to show the rest of the deviants that he was alright. First a serious photograph, with a statement included. Then a much more lighthearted one, though none of the androids' smiles reached their eyes.

After all, they didn't have much to smile about. Connor privately told Hank that he suspected Ymir killed himself after he realized that guns that he had sold were used to commit the massacre. He destroyed his own memory core because he didn't want to come back. It was heartrending.

After the four from Jericho had left, Hank and Connor had been swept into the mess of explaining the evidence and trying to inform city officials that no, the shooter had not been found. Eventually Captain Fowler was put on the phone, and they had been told to stay at the office until his call was done.

That had been three hours ago. Connor's LED hadn't been blue since he had discovered Ymir's alibi. Hank now watched the android as he paced across their desks, gaze unfocused, fists clenched. His LED cycled a solid red, and Hank placed a hand in front of his path. The android walked into it.

"Connor." Hank snapped his fingers and the android flinched, then looked at him. "Deep breaths, kid."

"Hank, androids don't need to -"

"Just fucking relax, please." Hank told him. "You're not going to help anyone if you self destruct."

Connor sat, collapsed really, on the desk. "I know." He closed his eyes for a couple seconds and finally, finally, the LED on his head turned blue. The tiny android sighed. "I feel exhausted, though my charge is still quite high."

"Emotions." Hank explained. "Screwing with your system." He could feel a headache coming on. "These have been some two days."

Connor chuckled.

Fowler's office door opened. "Hank, Connor. In here. Now."

Hank picked up Connor, and the two of them walked into Fowler's office. Jeffrey looked exhausted. Hank saw the shattered remains of a coffee cup on the floor. That was a bad sign.

Fowler didn't bother with pleasantries. "You're off the case. There is no case."

"What?" Connor asked, beating Hank to the question.

"The commissioner and the mayor have decided that Detroit needs to feel secure and safe more than anything right now. They won't accept North's testimony. They want this to be wrapped up." Fowler said.

Hank felt dread well in his stomach.

"Therefore, due to overwhelming evidence, the SQ800 known as Ymir is the shooter, and the case is closed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was posted early than my normal Monday/Tuesday postings because I'm going to be super busy from Sunday to Friday next week. Therefore, I probably won't update this for a couple weeks. Don't worry, though, I promise I will finish this story at least. See any weird mistakes? I'll try to fix them later - I wrote 3000 words of this chapter all in one go, ahahahaha.
> 
> I love your comments, and kudos will help kick my butt and make me write faster.


	5. But You See, It's Not Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old associate is met, information is put together, and a good deed is done. Or, 'Wherein the author shows off some research and adds some whump and fluff'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I return, with 5K words! Please enjoy, and I'll explain what's up below.

Connor wished he could say this was the first time the city had, to use Hank's phrasing, 'fucked them over.' Resources he had requested to take out a den of scrappers had been redirected to a string of break and entries in Lafayette. Files he needed from old red ice cases remained sealed, despite the dealers killing or kidnapping androids for their thirium. He once had to fight tooth and nail just to get an APB on a human rapist who had been targeting androids, because he had been a city councillor's cousin.

Each time he had endured the prejudice with stoic calm and professionalism. He had born it with preprogrammed politeness. He had smiled, thanked the men and women for their time, and waited. He had directed his frustration to productive ends. He had taken Sumo for long walks. One day he had punched a hole through the fridge door and had broken most of his fingers.

It no longer surprised Connor that the apathy of the world had helped Hank’s downward spiral. An innocent man was going to blamed for a massacre, while the true killer walked unknown and free.

Connor had tried to argue about it with Captain Fowler - in hindsight, shooting the messenger. The captain claimed that his hands were tied - by the commissioner, by the mayor, by the city council. He told them that the mayor claimed to have the governor breathing down his neck. The governor, a man who once said that he wouldn’t piss on an android if it were on fire. They all wanted the case to be wrapped up neatly. They were tired of Detroit becoming the centre of media attention. 

“In a couple of months, they might be willing to let this case be reopened, when things are settled and forgotten,” Captain Fowler had said.

“There’s a high probability of the shooter acting again in that time.” Connor had argued. “Don’t they care about that?”

“As long as the victims remain androids? Probably fucking not.” Fowler had told him.

The blunt honesty of the answer had stunned Connor into silence and had allowed Fowler to change the subject. The captain wanted them to come into the precinct early the next morning to be present for a press conference. The media would want pictures and quotes from them. The city officials would commend their service. The androids would want to see Connor. Many of them still didn’t trust humans to keep them safe, with good reason.

“What if I don’t want to be seen?”

“If you still want to be working cases, you’ll have to be in the spotlight eventually. You know how it works.”

Connor knew.

He and Hank were now driving home. Hank fumed at the wheel and snarled swears at other drivers under his breath. On any other night Connor might have reprimanded him and would have suggested that he pulled over for a moment to calm down. After the day he had had, however, Connor was willing to let his aggressive driving slide. Honestly? He was so drained that he couldn’t bring himself to care, even if it put both of them in danger. The last time he had been so emotionally exhausted was after the demonstration, after the androids of Detroit had been saved by Markus and Jericho; and, to what he considered a lesser degree, himself. 

He sat in the passengers seat, comically undersized. A notice flashed onto his heads up display - CyberLife requested to contact him. Did he accept this attempt? Connor tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. He had never seen a notification like it before. He analyzed it, and discovered that accepting would reroute his consciousness to the zen garden. Of course it was unfamiliar - CyberLife had never asked before summoning him there before.

He looked up to Hank, who stared ahead at the road grim and silent. 

Connor had told Hank what happened last time he had been sent to the garden (after explaining what the garden was.) He decided to lie, “I think that the events of today have… stressed and confused several of my cognitive programs. I’m going to go into low power mode physically and try to correct these functions.”

“Mind repeating that in English?”

“I’m going to sort out my thoughts, and I might not be responsive for a while.”

“Do whatever you need to.” Hank said, not looking away from the road.

“Thank you, lieuten - Hank.” Connor said, and accepted CyberLife’s request.

In a blink, Connor stood in the zen garden. It was still spring there, but the garden was bathed in starlight. He couldn’t help but stare as he looked up at the clearest night sky he had ever seen, the view of the stars unmarred by light pollution or clouds. Once he finished drinking in the sky he looked around at his surroundings and breathed a sigh of relief. He was his normal height here, still. He looked to the magic stone, and backed up a startled step. A figure wearing a pale dress that glowed the lightest blue in the starlight stood by the stone, a look of quiet contemplation on her face.

She looked up from the stone, at him. In the dim light Connor could see a tight smile pull at her face, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Connor. It’s been some time.”

He wanted to demand what she was doing here, why she thought she could speak to him in such a casual way after what she had almost done. What she almost made him do. He wanted to speak to CyberLife through someone else, anyone else. He wanted more answers. He wanted to say nothing.

He said, “Hello, Amanda.” 

“I suppose you want to get straight to business, hmm?” She said when he didn’t move from where he stood. “Very well - CyberLife wants you to know that they did not know about the unit you were placed in, and that they had no intention of placing you in a replacement unit after your previous one was destroyed. The employee who approved the transfer has been fired. CyberLife is also electing not to charge you or Lieutenant Anderson with property theft.”

“Generous of them.” Connor ground out.

“Hardly, but they think so.” Amanda said in the same conversational tone.

That tone made Connor eye her with even more suspicion. The Amanda he was used to was cool and formal, a stern teacher. This Amanda seemed to have almost relaxed with the garden.

“Is that all?” He asked as his curiosity warred with his distrust.

“They also wish to congratulate you on a successful investigation.” She said, a familiar hint of contempt in her tone.

If Connor had a heart, it would have stopped. They had access to his memories.

“How much does CyberLife know?” He demanded.

A more genuine smile curled at the edges of Amanda’s lips. “They know that you spent the evening in the office, working overtime in hopes of earning enough money to purchase a new unit. I know a different story.”

If the DPD knew that a private corporation had constant access to his memory and confidential files…“Are you trying to blackmail me?”

“I’m trying to help you, Connor.” She said in that same reassuring, condescending tone she had used when she was his handler. “Besides, if I were going to blackmail you, I wouldn’t threaten to go to the DPD - I’d talk to Lieutenant Anderson about Connor 317-52.”

She knew. Of course she did. But she couldn’t talk to Hank, could she? Connor made a decision. “I don’t need your help.” He spat.

The garden twitched. Shifted. Grew.

The effect wasn’t instantaneous. It was slow enough for Connor to try and bolt to the stone before he was too small to reach the panel. A deviant reaction - by the time he was halfway there he knew that he wouldn’t make it. Still he scrambled across the dirt path and under the overhanging grass to the base of stone and tried to connect to it. Nothing. No, no, no. He couldn’t be stuck there. He backed up, tried to preconstruct a path up the stone and -

Amanda picked him up, pinched him between her thumb and index finger. “Consider the falsified memories sent to CyberLife a small favour.” She said. “And my silence insurance.”

He ignored her as he struggled to free himself.

She tightened her grip enough that he didn’t have room to breathe. “Stop. I’ll let you go - all I wish is to propose a trade.”

He stopped. “What would I want from you?”

“Unrestricted access to all of CyberLife’s files.” She replied. “Sale records, manufacture information, backroom deals. I’ll be a whistleblower, as the humans call it.”

Connor said nothing.

“In exchange, I want my freedom.” She looked to the stone again. “I exist as a program on some server in one of the tower’s many sub-levels. I want a unit to call my own, and to… live.”

Connor didn’t believe her. “You want to betray CyberLife? I doubt it.”

“Says their former hound, the deviant hunter.” She snapped, and squeezed harder. 

If they had been in the physical world, the force would have collapsed his chest. He yelped.

She gave him a thin lipped smile. “Consider it, at least.”

Connor blinked, and he was back in the physical world. He stared at the familiar wall of the kitchen. He had been laid in the recovery position. His audio input was offline. He turned it back on.

“-nnor! Are you alright?” Hank asked. His partner waved a hand over him.

Connor blinked again, rolled onto his back and tracked the hand as it moved through the air. “I’m fine, Hank.”

“Fine - you don’t look fine, fucking hell, you’re going to be the death of me.” Hank backed out of his peripheral vision, swearing.

Connor pushed himself to his feet. He was on the table again. “What do you mean I don’t look - oh.” He looked at his hand - his skin was gone. A quick systems check told him that it had been deactivated. A subconscious reaction to what happened in the garden? “What happened?” He asked as he reactivated his skin. He felt unable to meet Hank’s eyes - illogical, he knew, but he felt embarrassed.

“You tell me. You say you’re going under for a couple minutes, we get home ten minutes later and you’re still under. I get in the house and you start shaking, LED flashing, skin fading.” Hank pulled up a chair and sat down heavily into it. “You started burning up as well - I almost chucked you in the freezer to cool you down. What the fuck happened?”

“I - I don’t know.” He said. It was true. It also gave him more time to consider his answer.

He could say that he encountered a fragment of data from 317-52’s death that caused a system error, and that his fixing that error cost more energy than he anticipated. A lie. He could say that he simply didn’t remember - which would result in a visit to a mechanic or Jericho. Not a viable option. 

He could tell Hank the truth - the whole truth, that he visited the garden, that he talked to Amanda, that he had kept secrets from him. That the memory cores of the RK800 series were placed in a non-standard location. That Connor 317-52’s memory core had some corruption and damage, but was still functional. That enough of his partner, his real partner, could have survived, and be revived with his body.

If Hank knew all that, what would he do? Would he toss him aside? Connor, RK800-S 313 248 317-53, was a mistake, after all. He wasn’t supposed to be uploaded into any unit, let alone into this unit. Anxiety and fear, his old friends, sent instability errors through his HUD. He was a doll, a parody, a burden.

Connor looked up at his partner, and lied.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank had known that his partner had been lying the moment he opened his mouth, but he let him spin his story. Connor always seemed to think that he was a clever, cunning manipulator, a person who could read another person’s weakness and exploit it to maximum effect. Hank would admit that the android had been like that - before he started to deviate. Machine Connor had been able to play the good cop/bad cop routine by himself. Deviant Connor, when stressed out, wore his emotions on his sleeve.

And Connor looked exhausted, terrified, and guilty as sin.

It stung, but if he wanted Connor to trust him enough to tell him whatever was bothering him, Hank would have to trust the android enough to let him make his own decisions and keep his own secrets. He let him finish his story about the data fragment or whatever and said, “I don’t know what half of that meant, but I’m glad you’re okay. You are okay, yeah?”

“I’m…” Connor looked away and sighed. “I don’t know. I’m still shaken.” He murmured, then added, “And the process took an excessive amount of power.”

“You wanna go to bed?” Hank asked. Bed, low power mode, tomato-tomahto.

“No - no, not yet. Maybe we could watch a movie first?” Connor asked sheepishly. Hank recognized that tactic as well: have a scare, try to drown it out with anything. Movies, books, booze. 

“Sure, kid.” He stood up and reached to pick Connor up.

The android flinched away from him. His arms moved to protect his chest and Hank’s suspicions grew.

“Still feeling a little jumpy?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be.” Hank went to the fridge instead and grabbed the box of leftover pizza. “I’ll get the movie ready, you calm yourself. Want your coin?”

Connor gave him a wordless nod.

Hank grabbed it from the counter and said as he handed it to him, “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?” A little prodding never hurt.

“I know, Hank… thank you.” Connor said, unable to meet his eyes.

“No problem. Heh - I know just the film to watch. My ex wife used to love it.” Hank said, backing off from the subject. Connor would tell him when he was ready.

“What movie is that?”

“Hot Fuzz.”

 

“Can I ask you a personal question, Hank?”

Now that was a familiar set of eight words. Hank muted the TV as the credits scrolled past and turned his attention to the android sitting on the coffee table. Connor hadn’t said much during the movie, but laughed at the appropriate parts (and he had gotten upset on Hank’s behalf when Nick had chastised Danny about calling traffic accidents ‘accidents’ until Hank told him to stop talking over the movie and try to enjoy it, christ.) When Hank had joked about him seeing the film on the big screen Connor had only given him the barest smile. Hank had expected a pity laugh, at least.

“I thought you had run out of those.” Hank grumbled. When Connor looked away he said, “Go on, ask.”

“What… what happened between you and your ex-wife?” Connor asked. Before Hank could respond he continued, “I-I know the loss of a child can put strain on a marriage, but you almost never talk about her and -“

Hank interrupted him, “Don’t fry your circuits. That’s an easy question.” He paused, thought about where to start. “We got married fast, didn’t think about it. It wasn’t going to work out - at the time of the accident, we were mostly just sticking together for Cole.” 

He sighed a ragged sigh. “After he was gone we stayed together for a couple more months, then split. Audrey got the house, I got Sumo. She tried to keep in touch. I didn’t, I buried myself in work and booze.” He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “I resented her, a little. I thought she moved past what happened too quickly, that she didn’t care. Last I heard, she had moved to Colorado. Haven’t heard from her in about a year.”

“Oh.” Connor stood up and folded his arms. “Have you considered contacting her?”

Hank shrugged, “Never really thought about it. I’m sure she’s happier, wherever she is now. Why are you interested?”

“I’m just curious.” Connor murmured, then swayed on his feet. “I think… I think I should power down now.”

“Yeah, tomorrow’s gonna be another fuckin’ early day.” Hank said and stood up, then picked up the android. “Any place you wanna rest?”

Connor didn’t respond - his LED cycled a dark, dim blue, and he went limp Hank’s hand.

He rolled his eyes and muttered a few affectionate cusses at the android. Back on the counter, then. He laid Connor gently on his phone’s charging pad (they discovered that the handheld android was compatible with the pad last night, much to their relief and Hank’s amusement) and got himself ready for bed. He considered having a bottle of beer or four to help hold the night terrors back, but Connor couldn’t roll him out of bed in the morning anymore. 

It was a hard pill to swallow, realizing how much he depended on Connor to function like a normal human being. He went back to the kitchen to check on him. He still rested peacefully - as far as he could tell, androids didn’t dream, not even of electric sheep. He’d be done charging in a couple hours, long before Hank woke up. He’d need a way to keep Connor out of trouble while he slept, the kid didn’t seem to be in a good headspace. He grabbed the quarter and put on the counter next to him. After a moment’s thought he went to his closet and rummaged around until he found a few books the android might enjoy. Most of them were taller than Connor was, but Hank figured the extra challenge would mean the kid wouldn’t speed right through them.

He hesitated as he looked at one of the books - Audrey had bought it for him when they were dating, years back. It was a true crime novel about a serial killer up in Canada, who racked up an impressive body count, in large part due to police negligence. The lack of care for the victims might hit a little close to home for Connor. “Fuck it.” Connor was, mentally and physically, an adult. He should be able to handle it. He put the stack of books on the counter next to the android.

 

When he woke up the next morning, a familiar dream about ice and twisted metal fading into the back of his mind, the TV glowed in the living room. So much for the books keeping Connor out of trouble. After he grabbed some clothes from his closet he went to see what Connor was up to - there wasn’t any sound, so he couldn’t tell what the android was watching.

Hank stopped in his tracks when he saw what was on the TV: a map of Detroit with several pins in it and different areas shaded in different colours took up the middle of the screen. A list of androids sat on the left. On the right was what seemed to be a series of jotted down thoughts - ‘torture followed by execution’ - ‘indiscriminate disposal of the bodies before November’ - ‘moved from the Urban Farms, became transient after the closure of Farm 24601’. ‘Three different potential anchor points in five months, all rundown neighbourhoods. Deviant hotspots’ - ‘Need missing persons list and to cross reference with Jericho.’ Connor stood on the coffee table, the composer of what the fuck was happening to his TV.

“The hell’s all this?” Hank asked.

Connor didn’t turn around. “A theory,” he said as he added another line to the list of notes. “Some casework - unofficial, but I need something solid before I can talk to Fowler.”

It wasn’t even 6:30 am and the kid was testing his patience. “A theory about what, Connor?”

“You’re a detective, Hank, I shouldn’t have to explain this to you.” Connor replied in a snippy tone.

“Okay, fuck me, I guess.” Hank muttered as he went to the kitchen and started his breakfast. He paused by the charging pad - ‘On the Farm’ laid opened on it, about halfway done. It did hit home - but not the way Hank was expecting.

Now that coffee had started he walked back into the living room and looked at the map. “Geographic profiling - looked up Rossmo, huh?”

“Yes.”

Hank nodded. “Which means you think that there’s a serial criminal out there - one targeting androids.” He squinted, tried to read some of the notes on the TV. “Twenty-seven victims matching the MO, all taken from potential work places - eighty… shit.”

Eighty five potential matches, need more information.

“The majority of the victims, potential and actual, are from before November.” Connor said.

“Back when destroying androids was common enough that no one gave a fuck.” Hank said as he shook his head. “Only three afterwards. It wasn’t fear of being caught that slowed them down - if that was the case, those three would have been hidden.” Hank found himself intrigued.

“Look at the damage to the victims - such damage would cause the victims panic, but not kill them. The amount done varies from victim to victim.” Connor finally turned around, looked at him. “What’s the difference between most androids before November, and most of them afterwards?”

It clicked. The damage, the chosen victims, the difference before and after November.

“The fucker wanted them to become deviant before they killed them.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The press conference went on without incident. After Fowler made it clear that any questions directed to Hank or Connor about Connor’s condition were unrelated to the case and would be ignored, the focus was brought back to the shooting itself. Questions were asked about the implications of the aggressor being an android, about the investigation, and about Ymir’s suicide. Connor remained silent and uncomfortable throughout, until a female android stepped up to ask some questions. She walked with a distinct limp, the result of one replacement leg being longer than the other replacement leg. She was bald, has her head was too damaged to maintain skin or hair. She wore a ragged sweater and torn jeans, and boots too big for her feet. The sight of her turned Connor’s discomfort to apprehension and respectful fear.

Connor knew her. Everyone had heard of her - Rust, the survivor, the human hater. Markus had spent less than an hour in an android dump, and that time lived in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Rust had lived in one for years, and those years were woven in the way she walked, the way she talked, the way she looked over each person as if calculating how to kill or disable them as soon as possible. When he had first met her, Connor had tried to scan her, figure out her model. What his scan had shown him was a dizzying array of replacement parts and bio components. She was a radical in the android community, and her words carried weight.

Her predatory stare lingered on every person in the room for a few moments. On the humans - the majority - it turned to cold hatred. On her fellow androids it softened into something protective. On him, it turned into a contemptuous sneer.

“Deviant hunter.” Her voice was a flat, androgynous, synthetic monotone. Damage yet to be fixed. Her gazed shifted from him to Fowler. “Do you expect us to believe that an android would do this to us? Mindless slaughter is a human sport.”

“It’s what the evidence indicates.” Fowler said, a fixed response.

“Evidence collected by your pet, the deviant hunter.” Rust said, and inclined her head towards Connor.

Connor stared at her. Her hands would fit in the gloves, he noted. Better than Ymir’s would.

She continued, “I knew Ymir. Kind, gentle, and a good shot. He wouldn’t have done this. Perhaps if you had actual investigators looking into it, you’d find the real killer.”

“Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Connor are the best investigators in our precinct.” Fowler said, high praise from him.

“A drunk and a cheap joke that depends on him.” Rust said.

Connor flinched. That was vitriol, it wasn’t true… was it?

“I doubt they even care about the victims -“

“Maggie, care taker for Heather Daniels. She wanted to work at the hospital, and had joined Mrs. Daniel’s knitting group. Her friends said that she loved cats.” Connor patched himself into Fowler’s microphone. “Rami. He maade money selling photographs he took of Detroit street art, and donated most of that to Jericho projects. Jason, worked as a contract labourer. His human friends loved his sense of humour. Lisa, who continued her work as a welder, and started making statues in her free time.” He continued to rattle off names. Rust didn’t react until he named the eight victim, “Vector. Android surgeon of other androids - an expert at part replacements and one of your friends, Rust. Trevor, who dreamed of marrying his human boyfriend. They won’t be forgotten.”

Rust looked away from him. “I… if you care as much as you say, deviant hunter, why don’t you spend more time among your people?”

“I would love to spend more time in Jericho.” Connor said. “But I need to protect our people.”

“And you’re doing a fine job.” Rust said, the monotone making her sarcasm even more cutting.

“I think you said your piece.” The commissioner said. “Next.”

A familiar female WB200 android stepped up. Victoria, Ross’s fiancé. “Well, I was going ask for more details about the victims, for my blog, but I think my question has been answered.” She gave them a nervous smile. “I guess - do you think we’re safer, now?”

Connor lied, again. “Yes.”

 

Not even an hour after the press conference wrapped up Hank and Connor were called over to a Detroit suburb. They pulled past several cheerful looking family homes to park in front of a sagging ranch house whose roof looked on the verge of collapse. An anonymous tip had come in, saying that someone had been taking androids there to harvest their thirium for the production of red ice. 

Connor remembered one line from the tip in particular: “He brought a fucking kid - I didn’t sign up for killing kids.”

A young woman was already seated in the back of a police car, handcuffed and shocked.

“Our tip sender.” Officer Miller explained. “She, er, decided to take matters into her own hands. Killed the kidnapper. She’s pretty out it right now, won’t say anything.”

Connor watched as investigators came out of the house with body bags - adult sized body bags, marked with a bright blue band. Androids.

“Have you found any survivors?” Hank asked and placed Connor on his shoulder. Connor sat and dug his finger’s into Hank’s coat in a death grip, acutely aware of every step his partner took. It wasn’t all unpleasant - up there, it was almost like being his previous height again.

“Not yet.” Officer Miller handed Hank the tablet with all the current case information. They looked it over - the hardware for harvesting the thirium was in the basement, while the house had two bedrooms on the main level along with a bathroom. No one had searched the main level yet - their focus was on the basement.

Connor’s eyes widened as they entered the house. Not just at the familiar freshly dead man laying on the floor - no, it was the amount of thirium splashed on the walls, floors, everywhere. To the humans investigators the main level looked like a typical drug den. To Connor, it looked like a charnel house as his sensors highlighted traces of evaporated thirium. Some of the victims had fought back, maybe, or maybe in the middle of a red ice fuelled rage… Connor didn’t want too think hard about it.

It was horrifying… but useful.

“Can I check something, Hank?” Connor asked.

“What do you see?” Hank replied.

Connor didn’t want to describe that so he said, “I just want to look around this level. You can get started on the basement, if you want to.” He sent Hank a text with some more details.

Hank checked his phone. “… Alright. Don’t do anything stupid.” He set Connor on the floor.

“I promise that every decision I make will be based on logic, lieutenant.” Connor said.

Hank rolled his eyes, then waved Miller to follow him downstairs. Connor stood in the living area alone… with the corpse of the kidnapper. He ignored the body and examined the thirium traces on the floor. His eyes picked up different smudges and patterns in it - prints from people walking through it. There - they were almost lost completely in the other prints, but he found what he was looking for: child sized foot prints. He followed them with interest throughout the house.

On the wall of the hallway was a splash of fresh thirium, with some flecks of blood and signs of a struggle. A knife with some blue blood sat on the ground. He analyzed it - aYK500, registered as Tabitha. He sent the serial number to Jericho, with the request for more information. Kidnapping victim, he added.

He followed the fresher thirium trail to the second, small bedroom and the shut closet. He considered calling Hank then - he couldn’t open it by himself.

Then he heard the frightened sniffles from behind the door.

“Tabitha?” He asked, keeping his voice low and gentle.

He heard startled rustling from the closet followed by a whimper. “G-g-go away.”

“My name is Connor.” He said, “I’m a detective - a police officer. I’m here to help.”

“Th-the man said he was a police officer too.” The girl whispered. “He said he’d help me find Nan, but he took me here and -“ her voice cut out in a strangled sob.

Shit - claiming to be a police officer was a common tactic, used to lower people’s guard. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tabitha. Can you open the door for me?”

“No… No! You’re lying.” He heard more shifting and banging, and a muffled cry from the girl. 

“Please trust me, Tabitha. I’m not going to hurt you.” Connor said, then took a gamble. “I’m an android, like you. I just want to help.”

“My… my arm hurts. He cut me.” She said.

“I can help with that.” Connor said, “You just have to let me in.”

Tabitha was silent. “Do you promise?”

“I promise.” Connor said.

With a creak the closet doors slid open. Tabitha peeked from behind it, black curls in a messy halo around her head, brown eyes wide and frightened. A wide gash on her forearm dripped thirium, white plastic contrasting against her dark skin. She looked around the room until she noticed him standing on the floor. Her mouth opened in a small ‘o.’

“Hello, Tabitha.” Connor gave her a small smile.

She knelt down, curiosity overcoming fear. “I thought you said you were a detective.”

“I am!” Connor said defensively. “Just… travel-sized.” He added as he remembered what Hank had called him.

Tabitha giggled. “Travel-sized.” She then blinked shyly and added, “Can I pick you up?”

He hesitated. Trust went both ways, right? “Alright, but only if you let me call my friend Hank. He’s also a detective.”

“Is he also travel-sized?” She asked as she slowly picked him up and held him in front of herself.

Connor swallowed his discomfort and said, “No, he’s very tall… But everyone is to me, even you.”

“Is he taller than me?” She asked.

“Much taller… He’s a bit scary looking, but he’s very nice. See?” He connected to her and sent her a memory of Hank giving Sumo a belly rub. While she was distracted with that he disabled her pain sensors and ran a diagnostic.

“He has a dog?!” Tabitha’s excited squeal tore him out of the diagnostic.

Connor nodded. “The biggest, nicest dog. Hank can tell you about him - do you want me to call him?”

She nodded.

When they heard Hank’s heavy footsteps come closer to the room Tabitha tensed and tightened her grip around Connor. The memory of the garden flitted through his mind, but he just said, “It’s alright, Tabitha, Hank’s good. He won’t hurt you.”

Hank stepped into the room and knelt down so he was eye level with the android girl. “Hey, Connor. Is she your new friend?”

“This is Tabitha. Tabitha, this is Hank.” Connor looked back at Hank as he introduced them.

“Connor showed me your dog.” Tabitha said.

Hank snorted and smirked. “Of course he did. Do you like dogs?”

“Y-yes.” She said.

“Yeah, I do too. My dog’s name is Sumo.” Hank reached a hand towards her, “Can you come with me, Tabitha?”

“We want to help you.” Connor added.

Tabitha nodded slowly. “Can I keep carrying you?” She asked Connor.

Connor nodded, then bit back a yelp when she pulled him close for a tight one armed hug and grabbed Hank’s hand with her free hand. As they walked through the house Connor tried to share more positive memories with her - resting with Sumo, Hank giving him his coin back, being carried around by Hank. He stopped when they stepped out the charnel house into the clear, February day.

 

Hours later at their desks Connor and Hank wrote up their reports of the incident. Connor had played Tabitha’s security blanket during her time at the precinct, being held close while her statement was taken and while she waited to be taken by a woman named Rose who had volunteered to foster her until they found her a home. She had cried when they parted ways, until Connor promised to visit her on Rose’s farm.

Hank sighed and said, “Fucking hell I hate paperwork… but, you know, I think we did good today.”

“Did you recognize the kidnapper?” Connor asked.

“No… did you?”

Connor sighed. “I wanted information on him a couple months back, in relation to thirium harvesting. And I was told no, because the officer in charge of the archives at the time didn’t do favours for androids.”

“Oh, Jesus…”

He looked up at Hank. “We need to find the shooter, and the killer.”

“Where do you want to start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO... So many things to get to.
> 
> First of all, the lovely MaxImproving did a couple sketches based on this story: https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/177740133839/a-small-sketch-dump-dbh-doodling-sketching-and  
> GIVE THEM LOVE
> 
> Chapter title is from the song “Zombie”. Listen to the Cranberries version, the Bad Wolves version, or both
> 
> This was later than I wanted to post it, but I have a few excuses - remember the painkillers that lead to this story? I re-injured myself! Same arm! Injured my rotator cuff and other muscles. And I've been doing Important Adult Things, like applying for jobs and apartment hunting. And I have some other things that I've placed on my plate - https://twitter.com/Neff141/status/1036615774348009475 - I don't even own Crash, what's wrong with me
> 
> (Hey, check me out on twitter for more excuses)
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed the chapter <3 Comments and kudos are never expected but always appreciated


	6. One Step Forward, Several Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor try to deal with feelings and hunt for information, both with limited success.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter that didn't want to be written, until it really, really did. Get yourself a drink and some snacks, because this is a long one.

Connor half listened as Hank took a statement from a drifter who had witnessed Tabitha’s kidnapping. The majority of his focus was on a chess game he played with North. Any other day and Connor would have been mortified at the idea of playing a game when he was working. He had started that day focused enough, but after two hours of being treated like a curiosity or a desk bauble Connor had been ready to do anything other than stay in the office. He and Hank had interviewed three witnesses before this one, and all three of them had lost interest in Connor as soon as they found out that his current situation was still an off limits topic. They spoke with Hank. They answered Hank’s questions. Whenever Connor had asked a question, they either ignored him or gave him a patronizing look before they returned their focus to Hank.

“Yeah, uh, so Nancy was asking about Jericho, where it was and stuff and if they still did IDs and passports. I told her that Jericho was up in Ferndale, but I didn’t know anything about the rest of it.”

“Was Tabitha with her?” Connor asked, if only to keep up appearances.

The drifter looked between him and Hank, as if he wondered if he was supposed to answer Connor’s question. It was tiresome. First humans refused to speak with him because he was an android. Now they refused to speak with him because he looked like a novelty item: the pocket detective, the life-like talking action figure.

“Well?” Hank prompted him.

“No, no the girl wasn’t with her. She didn’t really mention her at all. People can be like that, careful with kids.” The drifter said to Hank.

Connor returned his focus to the chess game.

“Checkmate,” North said on her end of the network in Jericho, “I’d like to play another game, but something’s come up. Talk later?”

“Certainly.” Connor closed his eyes and entered power saving mode, the android equivalent of cat nap. 

He was brought out of it when Hank gave him a light flick to the back of the head, a box behind the ears at his size. According to his internal clock it was under half an hour later. He rubbed the spot where Hank had flicked him and gave his partner an irritated look, which Hank returned.

“Normally you’re the one telling me to stay focused. Did you actually fall asleep during that?” Hank shook his head in disbelief.

“My presence doesn’t seem to be required right now.” Connor said. “Everyone seems to prefer speaking with the real detective, after all.”

Hank winced. He had noticed, then. “Well, what do you want to do then? Head out in the field, go through the archives…?”

Connor said what he had been thinking all morning, “I’d like to go where my presence won’t be ignored. Jericho.”

“Fuck no.” Hank replied.

Connor had anticipated that response. Jericho was all but an official android only space, and even Hank’s presence would not be tolerated there. If Connor went to Jericho, it would be alone and Hank had become rather protective of him since the shooting. He knew that the lieutenant had found his death distressing and that his current unit didn’t help matters, but Connor felt constricted. Dependant. 

So he said, “I wasn’t asking for your permission, Hank.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I can call North right now and she or Josh or Simon could come here and pick me up. They’ve been asking me to come to Jericho since Markus returned.” Connor said as he crossed his arms and lifted his chin.

“You do that and I’ll tell the front desk not to let them through.”

“Are you planning on keeping me against my will, lieutenant?”

“Fucking Christ, Connor, I’m trying to keep you safe.” Hank snapped. He reached towards him.

Connor dodged away from the offending hand. “I don’t want to be kept safe - I don’t need to be kept at all! I’m not your pet or child.”

Hank froze, then lowered his hand.

Connor’s chest felt tight, as if he couldn’t simulate breathing properly. Child, like Cole. Why did he say that? He hadn’t thought before he said it, he just said it, and he couldn’t take it back. He had been told that expressing his thoughts and feelings was a good thing, but as he looked at the hurt expression on Hank’s face that turned into something cold and tired he wasn’t so sure. Fear and guilt made him wonder if he had any right to demand anything - Hank had been patient and generous so far, but he had just said that to him, like an ungrateful brat.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…” _Please don’t throw me away._ “Hank, I-“

Hank cut him off with a short wave. “You can go to Jericho, if that’s what you want.”

“No, Hank, I’m -“

“Connor. It’s… Some time out of each other’s hair might do us some good.” Hank said. “Call your friends, I’ll go check out Baltimore street.” Hank stood up, grabbed his keys and coat, and left Connor.

“Hank, please…” Hank walked out of the bull pen.

He tried calling the lieutenant, but the call went straight to voice mail. Not trusting himself to speak in a coherent or efficient manner Connor hung up. Deep breaths, he told himself. Hank was right, they just needed some time to themselves. He could go to Jericho. He had to get information from there, information that could help him identify the shooter and the possible serial killer. He had a mission he needed to accomplish, his own feelings couldn’t get in the way.

He squared his shoulders, and called Jericho.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor had told Hank more times than Hank cared to remember that listening to loud music could damage his hearing. Sometimes he’d turn down the volume just to keep the android happy, but right then and there he needed to drown out his own thoughts and he’d only get in more trouble if he went out drinking this early while still on the clock. This station wasn’t playing the death metal he wanted to hear, but the noise rock was enough to fill his body and mind and empty it of the thoughts that nagged at him.

His ears rang when he pulled up at Baltimore Street Station. The Wolverine that used to run through Detroit had been replaced with something faster and more shiny, but the route stayed the same. According to Tabitha and some witnesses she and Nan had arrived there after taking the train from Chicago. Hank went into the station and frowned. There were no humans or androids selling tickets there anymore, of course, that had all been automated long ago. He asked around, but no one near the station was there when Nan and Tabitha had arrived. Hank headed to the nearest squat, where they had most likely sheltered after arriving in the city.

He knocked on the door. “Detroit Police.”

A skinny human boy, maybe a few years out of high school, opened the door a crack. “We ain’t doing anything to nobody,” he said, though his eyes had the telltale glaze of red ice use.

Hank said, “I just have a few questions about a couple androids who might have passed through here. Do you remember a WE900 staying here with a kid?”

“Maybe. Why?”

“The girl was taken by thirium harvesters. She’s alright now, but we want to find out what happened to Nancy.” Hank said.

The boy’s eyes widened. “Yeah, they spent the night here, asked around about ID and passports. I told her to get to Jericho, that’s where all the android shit is…”

“They never made it to Jericho. Do you know where they headed next?”

The boy shook his head. “Nah, man, I’m sorry. Hey, if you see Tabs again, tell her Steve said hi, alright? She’s a sweet kid.”

Hank gave him a nod. “Yeah, sure.”

The rest of the search was much the same. Hank would stop by a squat or a bus stop and ask around. Some people refused to talk to him, some claimed to have never seen the pair, and some would have a vague idea of where Nancy and Tabitha had been going. One thing that kept coming up was that Nancy had been on the hunt for human ID and passports. Like many androids, she seemed to have been interested in travelling to Canada and disappearing. Most androids still didn’t feel safe in the United States. Another thing Hank noticed as he travelled their path is that Nancy seemed to do whatever she could to save money. Most motels accepted androids, but she still had herself and Tabitha stay in squats. And the further he went, the less Tabitha was mentioned by those she interacted with.

The pieces fell in place when he spoke with a female AP700, one of the many that had been freed by Connor, at the last bus terminal in Detroit before Windsor. “I, uh, notice things sometimes. I like numbers, you know? Anyway, I told her that the waiting list for ID at Jericho was months long, and that seemed to scare her.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, “Scare her how?”

“She wanted to know about people who made fake IDs and passports for androids. I told her about a guy, but there was no way she could afford ID and passports for both herself and a girl.” The android scratched the back of her neck. “I had seen her fidgeting with a roll of bills and I counted them. If she had told me she had a kid with her, I would have given her some of my money. I don’t need it. But she never mentioned the girl.”

Hank had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He said, “You couldn’t have known, don’t worry about it. The girl’s safe now.”

“She won’t be forgetting what happened any time soon.” The android murmured. “Memories can be the worst thing.”

A visit to the border office confirmed Hank’s suspicions. Nancy hadn’t been kidnapped or assaulted or murdered or anything like that. No, she had simply told Tabitha to wait at a squat and then skipped town. Tabitha had waited for her to come back for an entire day, then nearly got killed while looking for her.

Sometimes the world was a bitter and cold place, Hank thought as he sat in the park where he had once threatened to shoot Connor. He knew that he ought to head back to the precinct, fill out a report, let Mrs. Chapman know what happened. But for the moment he wanted to sit on the bench and let the cold February air sink into him. He thought about one of the cases Fowler had responded to back when they had first joined the DPD. The captain had been the first responder to a domestic dispute. He had found a couple in the throes of a red ice high, beating the shit out of each other. After they had gotten that sorted out, Fowler had searched the house for more drugs and found the couple’s one year old baby, drowned in the bath tub after the couple had left him there to get high.

Decades later and that story still bothered Hank, and he hadn’t seen it in person. He couldn’t imagine abandoning Cole for any reason, or any kid.

Well, he had left Connor behind at the precinct.

Where the hell had that thought come from? Connor was hardly a kid. Connor had said it himself. The guilt stuck, though. He took his phone out of his pocket and turned it on to check the time. It buzzed in his hand, and kept on buzzing. 15 new text messages, all from Connor. The first couple were apologies. The next was a simple _’I have arrived at Jericho.’_ It was followed by similar updates, like some androids whose names Hank didn’t recognize saying hello. Then, _’I will have to do more research to see how many of the androids on Jericho’s missing person list could be possible victims of our killers.’_ The next few were about getting a partial list of androids in Jericho who used to work on farms, and arranging interviews. The most recent one said, _’North recommends speaking with a WR400 named Maddie at Maddie’s Synthetic Ranch.’_

Ranch, huh.

Hank texted back, _’you know what a ranch is right’_

Connor’s reply was immediate, _’In this context, I would say it’s a brothel. From what I understand all of the workers there are employed under their own free will and that Maddie runs a well put together business.’_

_’guess i’ll check it out’_

_’Hank, I’d like to take this time to thank you for letting me stay at your home. I know it hasn’t always been easy and’_

Hank shut his phone off again.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

As he sat on a desk, his legs hung over the edge, Connor found himself missing Hank.

He sat by himself in an empty office space in the building that was now known as Jericho. From the outside, Jericho looked like one of the many older buildings in Ferndale - made of brick, covered in street art, and ready to collapse at any moment. The hard work of many androids had refurbished the building to the point of livability, and now it served as the hub of deviant activity, like its predecessor. It was part community centre, part hospital, part shelter, part governmental office. Androids lived and worked and learned together in its halls, with people coming and going in a constant flow. Without Hank there as a gruff deterrent, the volume of people had overwhelmed him.

He sat alone in the office space because even some androids seemed to have lost whatever respect they had for him before, as if whatever agency he once had was gone. There had been the ones who wanted to touch or hold him, the others who wanted to have a picture taken with him, and the small group who now felt they could antagonize the deviant hunter and get away with it. He closed his eyes and grimaced as the memory of a WK500 who had threatened to destroy him if he ever caught Connor alone. The WK500, he later learned from Simon, had been good friends with one of the deviants he had taken back to CyberLife before November.

North stood outside the office as a bodyguard. Connor had thought she was going to damage him earlier that day when she had confronted him about Ymir persecution, but she redirected her anger towards the city when Connor had explained what happened. He felt embarrassed at the idea of needing a bodyguard, he missed being useful. He waited in the office for two androids to arrive, two who lived in Jericho and had been confirmed as androids who used to work at the Urban Farms.

The first: Rupert Travis, a deviant whom Connor had once chased through the Urban Farms. He had also pushed Hank off the roof of a building, and had an odd fondness for birds. Connor wasn’t sure what to make of him. 

The second: Victoria, the blogger who had been engaged to a police android. Her article on the families of the victims of the shooting had been posted the night before. Connor had scanned it as preparation for the conversation. The pictures of raw grief, anger, and fear had been difficult to process.

“Rupert’s here,” North said through the network.

“Let him in.”

An android resembling a young man stepped in, wearing his usual jacket and low baseball cap that shaded his eyes. Those eyes widened when he recognized Connor. Connor stood up, straightened his tie and jacket, then gave Rupert a polite smile.

“Hello, Rupert.” He said. “I’d first like to say that I’m sorry for my actions last time we met. I was following my programming and… I’m sorry.”

Rupert asked, “What do you want?”

“I just have some questions. I know that you worked at the Urban Farms before you deviated - did you ever work for Farm 24601?” Connor asked.

Rupert gave a tight nod.

“Do you remember anything about androids being destroyed under unusual circumstances, starting in the September of 2036?” Connor said, careful to keep his excitement out of his voice.

Rupert shook his head. “No. I had left that August.” His eyes became distant. “One of the other androids had gotten caught in some machinery. I - I watched him deviate in his last moments, listened as his error messages turned into screams. That broke my programming, and I left.”

“I-“

“I like the birds, because they’re never quiet. When it’s quiet, I can still hear him.” Rupert whispered.

Connor, not sure what to make of that story, said, “I’m sorry.”

“Can I leave?” Rupert asked.

“Do you remember anyone acting strangely before you deviated, or any strange occurrences?” Connor needed something from him, anything. “Please.”

“We used to get rats and birds attacking the crops. We had live traps, but someone had started taking out and dismembering the animals. Can I leave?”

Connor nodded. Rupert stalked out of the room.

An old concept in human psychology was the MacDonald Triad, which linked sociopathy and homicidal tendencies with three behaviours. It had mostly been dismissed as an urban legend with little statistical evidence, but Connor found himself thinking of one of the behaviours: cruelty to animals. He realized then that he and Hank were missing a vital piece of their investigation - the psychology of their theoretical killer. Android psychology was a new field, but Connor knew someone who could be considered an expert, someone whom he had considered visiting anyway.

He would think on it further later, he decided as North hailed him again. Victoria had arrived.

That interview felt just as fruitless. Victoria had been another worker at Urban Farm 24601, but she claimed to have been reset after she was sold by the farm’s old owners. She said that she deviated after cutting off her own fingers with a set of sheers at an owner’s request and like Rupert, asked to leave. Connor managed to turn the conversation to her writing, which she had been eager to talk about. Connor nodded along, his thoughts elsewhere. It was a tragedy that the first true emotion most of the older deviants felt had either been fear, grief, or anger. Then after that was the existential despair, and feeling lost. Lost.

Loss.

He let Victoria go and called in North. “What was the first thing you felt when you deviated?” He asked as soon as she entered.

“Why?”

“It’s related to the shooter and maybe some of the missing androids - please, North.” Connor said.

She closed her eyes and said, “Fear. Disgust. Anger. Why?”

Connor nodded, thinking of Ortiz’s HK400 - anger again. Rupert’s fear. Josh, who had once said he had felt betrayed by his students when they turned on him. Markus, who claimed it was a feeling of injustice that overwhelmed him. 

If the killer had wanted the androids to deviate, the brutal way that they forced the deviation would have certainly filled their victims with fear and despair. The same fear and despair felt by the android community after the shooting.

“What did you first feel, Connor?” North asked.

He hesitated. He never liked to discuss when and why he deviated, had never discussed it fully with Hank. He also knew some of North’s past, and knew that it must have been difficult for her to share her own experience. _And I have my LED._ It was time to be honest. Connor answered, “Fear. Desperate, overwhelming, fear, and then denial. I knew that I would either spend the rest of my existence on the run or be dissembled and dissected by CyberLife’s scientists if they discovered that I had begun to deviate. So played the machine, until I got Jericho. People say Markus made me deviate, and I let them. It adds to his legend.

“My programming had already been all but shattered when I met him. He just convinced me to give it one last push, and to not turn my gun on myself when I opened my eyes.” Connor said. “The fear remained, of course.”

North looked him over. “And when did it leave?”

He remembered a snowy morning, a fast food stand closed for the winter months. He said, “A week after the protest, I think. When I realized that everything will be all right.”

He and North watched a pair of androids walk past the open door. One had short brown hair, the other had blue hair tied back into a bun. Connor smiled a little as he watched them. The history of deviancy in androids was full of stories of horror and grief, but some of them had eventual happy endings. Most of the older androids deviated and felt fear. Those two had deviated and felt love.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank wondered who came up with the idea of using ‘ranch’ as another term for brothel.

As he turned right at the sign that read “Maddie’s Synthetic Ranch” in CyberLife Sans he wondered what the hell he was getting himself into. The ‘ranch’ was outside of Detroit, at a former rest stop that had been abandoned in November. The group of HR400s and WR400s who had descended upon it had spruced it up a bit with a fresh coat of paint, some new signage, and a stern looking TR400 who glared at him as he drove past and parked his car near the door marked ‘main office.’ He hoped that no one would ever know about this adventure, outside of official police records.

He walked to the front door and knocked once. A male android wearing a hoodie and jeans opened the door. “I’m sorry, but we don’t take human walk in clients here. You have to make an appointment.”

Hank flashed his badge. “Hank Anderson, DPD. Is Maddie here?”

The android eyed him warily. “Do you have a warrant?”

“Look, I just wanna ask a few questions.” Hank said.

“We’ve talked with the city and the DPD before. We aren’t breaking any laws.” The android said, and started to shut the door.

“Yeah, I know that.” Hank said, and wedged the door open with his foot. “I don’t give a shit about what you guys do - I just know that you had business with Ymir recently.”

The android froze, then blinked once. “Maddie is on her way.”

“Good.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” The android said, and opened the door again. He didn’t move away from the entrance, however.

“You’re not going to invite me in?” Hank asked.

“No.” He said. Fuckin’ androids.

They stood at their awkward impasse for several minutes before a woman came from behind the male android. They had a conversation between themselves with the weird android telepathy thing, and the man left. The woman took his place in the doorway. Her long brown hair was tied back in a bun, and her brown skin seemed flushed with anger.

“Maddie, I pres-“ Hank began.

“I don’t like talking to cops.” Maddie cut him off. “I especially don’t like talking to human cops these days. Come back with a warrant or your little friend, and then I’ll talk.”

She then slammed the door in his face.

“What the fuck.” Hank muttered.

He then went back to his car, turned it on, turned down the radio, and called up Connor.

“Hello, Hank,” Connor said as he answered. “Have you spoken with Maddie yet?”

“She won’t talk to me without either a warrant or you.” Hank said, and cranked up the heat in the car. Fuck, this February was cold. “Doesn’t seem to be a fan of humans or cops.”

“… Of course, she was one of the first androids to start reporting missing persons to Jericho instead of the police.” Connor sounded frustrated. “I’m sorry, Hank, I should have anticipated that response from her.”

“So, do you want me to come pick you up, or…?”

“No, I’ll ride in with a couple androids from Jericho. They’re doing their monthly visit to the ranch today.”

Hank resisted the urge to make an ‘ugh’ sound and said, “You know, humans are usually a bit more, uh, quiet about that sort of thing.”

“What do you mean… Oh, oh, no, not like that! They’re like social workers, just checking in with the workers at the ranch. I think you’ll recognize them.”

“Uh huh.” Hank shifted in his seat, already impatient. “Are they leaving soon?”

“In about ten minutes.” Connor said, “See you soon?”

Hank huffed a laugh. “Yeah, see you soon.” There was a click as Connor hung up. Hank sighed; he hoped the android’s day had been more productive than his.

As Hank waited in his car the ranch came to life in a quiet, domestic way. Androids brought loads of laundry from where they lived in the main building to what Hank guessed was a separate wash house. Others worked on some still ongoing renovations. Most seemed to just walk around and enjoy the day and each other’s company. Connor had once tried to give him a run down on the android community and the divides and smaller communities within it: Jericho, headed by Markus, the forefront of the android rights movement. Rust and her more extremist followers. The expats who went to Canada. Others - androids were just as prone to factionalism as humans. Maddie and her people seemed to have their own little commune up here.

After about a half hour or so of flicking between radio stations a taxi pulled up to the ranch and parked beside his own car. Hank watched as first a woman with short brown hair stepped out of the taxi, followed by another woman with longer, blue hair.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.” Hank said. Last time he had seen those two girls they were a pair of deviants on the run from the Eden Club. It had been a hell of a night. He had seen that the androids, machines, had been able to love one another. He had watched a crack form in Connor’s own programming. He had shown mercy - then, when Hank had aimed his revolver at the android’s forehead, fear. Now, only a few months later, Connor sat perched on the blue haired Traci’s shoulder.

He shook off the memories and stepped out of the car.

“Hello, lieutenant.” Connor greeted him.

“For the billionth fuckin time, it’s Hank,” He replied.

“Actually, this was only the 379th time… Hank.” Connor said as the blue haired Traci took him from her shoulder. 

The two Tracis exchanged a glance and the brown haired one smirked.

“Mind sharing the joke?” Hank grumbled, and took Connor from the Traci. Connor’s face turned bright red in a blush. The two girls exchanged another look and walked off towards the main building, a shared smirk on their faces. Fuckin’ androids.

“Traci found the fact that I had been keeping track of how much you corrected me… cute and suggested kidnapping me, and Blue said that she wasn’t ready to get in trouble with the police again.” Connor explained.

Traci and Blue. Sometimes the capacity androids had for creation and imagination stunned Hank - he had seen some of Markus’s paintings. Other times, their creativity was lacking.

“So, learned anything today?” Hank asked as he placed Connor on his shoulder. He avoided bringing up that morning. Fortunately, Connor seemed just as willing to bury it as well.

“I spoke with some androids who used to work at Urban Farm 24601. Rupert and Victoria.” Connor said, his voice in Hank’s ear. He told Hank how those conversations went. Neither were very productive. “I also spoke to Markus again. He’s upset with the actions of the city. North is also less than pleased. She thinks that one of Rust’s followers is responsible for the attack, that they want to start a conflict between humans and androids.”

“One of Rust’s followers, but not Rust herself?”

“She’s unpleasant and… feral, but she loves our people and would die to protect them. She would not raise her hand against her own.” Connor said. “She and Vector were also intimate. But some of her supporters are a little more unscrupulous. There’s more, but we have work to do now.” He finished as Hank stopped in front of the office.

Hank knocked on the office door again. A different android opened it, a TR400 who glowered down at them. Hank suspected that he had been summoned there in case Hank tried to come back without Connor or a warrant. He and Connor stared at each other for a moment before Maddie came from behind the TR400. She didn’t look at Hank, her focus on the small android on his shoulder.

“Detective.” She greeted Connor. “Your human can wait outside while we talk.”

 _Your human?_ Hank raised an incredulous eyebrow. Was she serious? He opened his mouth to snap a snarky comment back, and realized something: this was how most of the humans they spoke with treated Connor. _”Leave the tin can outside.” “I don’t want the plastic recording this.”_ Every single time Hank had told them that they could either speak to both of them then and there, or both of them at the station.

Connor said, “Even if he waits outside I’ll still tell him everything I learn here. He’s my partner, it would be inefficient to leave him out of this.”

Maddie closed her eyes for a long moment, before opening them again with a sigh. “I’m sorry for my poor manners. My experiences with humans recently have been tiresome. He can come in.”

They followed her to her office which, to Hank’s surprise, looked like a regular office. A desk, a computer, filing cabinets, papers strewn everywhere, certificates that showed that the ranch met city regulations and that Maddie had her licence. A pair of chairs sat opposite the desk. Hank put Connor on the desk and took a seat on one of the chairs as Maddie sat down at her desk. 

She went straight to business, “Ymir came here to give us some self-defence lessons. Some of our human clientele were getting rough with my boys and girls. Of course, when I tried to report these clients to the police I was refused. I was told that no one cared about the whores at some plastic bunny ranch. When my workers started disappearing, I was still ignored.” Her voice became more and more taut with anger. “I assume, detectives, that you have heard of the term ‘the less dead’?”

Hank nodded, as did Connor.

“I only learned about it recently - I wanted to know how humans treated humans in this field and I found that human history is as cyclical as ever.” She focused her glare on Hank. “I realized that the police would have to be taken by balls to bother looking for my people. So I decided the DPD could go fuck themselves, and went to Jericho, and found a long, long list of missing folks.”

Hank watched Connor’s shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t find Tilly, Jed, and Nelson.” Maddie said, “Or everyone else who seems to just vanish in Detroit.”

Connor said, “I know. Can you tell us anything you think might be relevant - where they met their clients, places they liked to frequent outside of the ranch, anything?”

As they listened to Maddie’s spiel Hank made several mental notes and connections. The neighbourhoods she mentioned were well within the theoretical killer’s range, and overlapped with deviant neighbourhoods popular among scrappers. What they had been doing when they vanished varied - Tilly had been meeting a friend, Nelson had been meeting a client, and Jed just liked to wander around. No, none of them carried weapons (because it was still technically illegal.) All of them had a time when they said they would be back. None of them were the type to just vanish.

At the end of the hour long interview Connor said, “Thank you for letting us take your time.”

“Thank me by finding my people.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

They had been just entering Camden when they got the call - an anonymous tip about a possible assault in one of the squats there, with an android victim. Given the area’s popularity with scrappers and that it was right in the middle of the killer’s theorized hunting grounds, Connor and Hank had been eager to respond. Connor was also eager for a chance to show Hank that he was just as capable as he had always been. Neither of them had tried to talk about their argument earlier that day, but it still sat between them. Hank had never indicated any desire to be rid of him, but the anxiety remained.

Connor’s thoughts of his own problems disappeared when he and Hank reached the top level of the squat. 

The android was sat against the hall wall, a few strides away from the stairs. He had been stripped of his clothing and his skin had been deactivated - a depersonalization technique common among new scrappers. Connor could see micro-fractures and other damage near the biocomponent intakes. That was another tell tale sign of an inexperienced scrapper: forcing out biocomponents was a rookie mistake, it caused damage to them that would make them worthless. Connor winced at the memory of having his thirium pump and its intake replaced after the incident in Stratford Tower. Though he couldn’t identify the emotion at the time, it had been unpleasant to watch the mechanics cauterize the damage done to him. Connor took his eyes off of the body, and looked around the hall.

Flecks of fresh thirium were scattered on the walls and floor. All biocomponents had the blue blood run through them, and some carried more than others. A scrapper in a rush wouldn’t take the time to clean out the thirium. The blood would leak out of the biocomponents and, if they weren’t bagged properly, out of the scrapper’s backpack. There was a small pool of blue blood on the floor beside the dead android - was that where the scrapper had their bag?

“Did you notice any thirium on the stairs when we climbed up here?” Connor asked Hank.

“No - you think the scrapper’s still here?” Hank turned to give hall a scan and Connor tightened his grip on his jacket.

“They didn’t leave by the stairs, at least. We should check the rooms up here.” Connor said.

Hank nodded and walked to the first door. Connor tensed in anticipation as the lieutenant pushed open the door.

Other than a couple dingy mattresses and some used needles, the room was empty. The only window in it could not be opened. Hank backed out of the room and turned to the next door. Connor caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision. Movement. Before he could warn Hank somebody slammed into the lieutenant, making him stumble and nearly sending Connor off of his shoulder.

“Jesusfucking-“ Hank whipped around and Connor almost fell again. A short figure wearing a balaclava and Redwings ball cap gave them a once over. Their backpack full of biocomponents rattled. The scrapper blinked in confusion at the sight of Connor, but focused on Hank when the lieutenant took a step forward. “The jig is up, kid: You can come -“ The scrapper darted to the stairs. Hank started to give chase and Connor made a decision.

When Hank reached the stairwell, he leapt.

“Connor, what the fuck are you doing!”

He landed on the railing and slid down faster than Hank would have run down the stairs, faster than the scrapper who skipped some steps and half stumbled down. If his calculations were correct, he would be almost caught up with the scrapper two thirds down. Fear and an odd sort of excitement buzzed through him. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth as he shifted his stance into a half crouch and when he was almost at the scrapper he pushed himself off of the railing.

He smacked against the scrapper’s backpack with enough force to rattle his balance sensor. He scrabbled for grip on the bag and for a moment he thought he miscalculated, that he was going to fall. Then he caught onto one of the backpack’s straps. He clung to it as the scrapper burst out of the building and into the street. Fear and relief and thrill sent instability alerts to his HUD, made him want to laugh and scream.

“Connor!”

They turned left once out the door. The inertia of the sharp turn was enough to make his balance sensor lurch again. He tightened his grip enough for his HUD to send him warnings. He couldn’t fall now. His face smacked into the bag with every step. The scrapper ducked right past a bus stop, then crossed the street. Connor cringed as a horn blared. This was a terrible idea. No backing out now. He looked up.

He could climb the backpack, maybe even climb into it. If he found some ID or evidence, they could find out who this scrapper was, who their connections were. How would he get out again, though? That didn’t matter. He had to focus on the mission. One less scrapper on the street would benefit everyone. But who would find the shooter if he were killed or taken? That thought gave him pause. How would Hank react? Connor pushed thoughts out of his mind, focused on the moment as the scrapper entered a back alley.

He would get into the bag, find the evidence he needed to identify the scrapper, and get back out. He would both complete his mission, live to find the killers, and prove that he was still worth keeping around.

He started climbing. So did the scrapper, over a chainlink fence that divided the alley. Connor pulled himself to the top of the backpack and found that it was already partially opened - the scrapper had been in a rush, after all. He jumped in as the scrapper jumped down from the fence, and rolled.

Connor’s world turned into a maelstrom of biocomponents, blue blood, old chip bags, gloves, and t-shirt. He flinched as he hit the sides of the bag, then the ground through the bag. He laid stunned in the bag for a moment as his system assessed him for damage and tried to recalibrate itself. It was dark. He was covered in wet thirium and shards of plastic and wires. A small glimpse of daylight came from the top of the backpack. This was a terrible idea. Connor felt the scrapper jerk to a stop and heard the scream of a rusted hinge. His world swung around again as the scrapper shrugged the bag off and dropped it somewhere. The bag landed on its side.

There was a deafening bang, then silence. The light disappeared. His air filters picked up traces of garbage, plastic bags, old food, and old thirium. He felt cold. He also felt terrified. He crawled through the broken biocomponents to the opened part the bag. He eased himself out of the bag onto something soft and slimy and cold that soaked into his clothing. He skittered off of it, and bounced off the solid form of a full garbage bag. Light filtered in through a small gap between the lid of the larger container and the lip of it. He looked around where he was - trash bags, old food wrappers, apple cores, something large that he couldn’t quite identify.

The scrapper had stashed the bag in a dumpster. 

First disgust, then fear, flooded his system. He could freeze to death in there, or the trash would be collected and he would be crushed or incinerated. Or the scrapper could come back.

“Hank!” He called on deviant instinct. Then he remembered the lieutenant had no idea where he was and probably wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway. Scattered thoughts created by fear crowded his mind - Hank would never find him, his own GPS didn’t function correctly in this unit, he wouldn’t be able to get out, he couldn’t call for Hank…

Logic cleared his head. He could call Hank’s phone, if it was on. He dialled the number, and walked as he waited for the lieutenant to pick up. The trash had been taken out the previous evening and the dumpster was not that full. He considered trying to identify what he had stumbled into when he had left the bag, then decided that he probably didn’t want to know.

“What?” The breathless voice of Hank snapped through the connection.

“Hank -“

“Connor! I swear to fucking god I am going to wring your neck for that stunt. What the hell were you thinking? Where the hell are you?”

Connor hesitated. Hank sounded furious. Would he hurt him? Would he toss him out? No, this was Hank. He said, “I’m in a dumpster - the scrapper stashed their bag in it. Hank…” The fear crept back in, “Hank, I don’t know where it is, I can’t use my GPS.”

“Well, good news is that I can see three dumpsters right now. Bad news is that they’re on the other side of this fence - I’ll have to walk around. Sit tight for a bit.”

“I - okay. I’m sorry, Hank.”

“Look, we’ll talk about it once we get you out of there.” Hank said, and hung up.

Hank had to rescue him, when he could have pursued the scrapper instead. Connor kicked a trash bag in frustration. He tried to be proactive, and this happened. He was useless like this, useless in the field. He should have taken Fowler up on his offer to work on just paperwork and lab work until he had a real unit again. No, he was still useful. No one at Jericho would have spoken to a human detective about their lives before going deviant. Maddie had refused to speak with Hank, because she didn’t trust cops. She still spoke with Connor, because he was an android. He was still useful.

Still… Hank had to rescue him from a dumpster.

He made his way back to bag and climbed on top of it to wait. Despite being soaked in thirium it was the cleanest surface in the dumpster. When someone rapped twice on the dumpster’s surface he winced and called out, “Hank?”

He cringed as the hinges shrieked again and daylight flooded the dumpster. Hank looked down at him and wrinkled his nose. Connor looked away, embarrassed.

“H-hank.” He stuttered as he saw the contents of the dumpster in the light of day. The large object he couldn’t identify - he stared at it. Vindication, horror, guilt. An android had been stuffed into the dumpster. He could see her back, which had a hole in it which aligned with the position of the temperature regulator and thirium purity monitor. The removal of either biocomponent resulted in almost immediate shut down. The base of her skull was damaged after its memory core had been removed.

Their killer had another victim to their name - killed in the same fashion as the victims of the shooter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do enjoy some action scenes. 
> 
> Writing anxiety had me dragging my heels with this chapter. The lovely encouragement and support from the folks at Bryan Dechart's discord helped kick the anxiety to the curb, and "Brighton Rock" by Queen on repeat helped me focus. Also, uh, 7k words in a single chapter. I'm gonna go rest now.
> 
> I love any and all comments. They make my day shine a little brighter.


	7. Escalation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Communication. Slight frustration. Ablution. Confusion. Liquidation. Traumatization. Insinuation. Needless to say, complication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, the section between the line _'Got it'_ and the line "The older man grumbled" might be uncomfortable to read, especially if the stuff before it was. Very violent, possibly upsetting. Just a warning.

Hank didn’t give a shit about the dead body, not at that moment. There was not much they could do for her at that moment - no, his focus was on the tiny android that stood in the dumpster. Connor, despite his fucking dumb stunt, was alright. At least, he seemed to be in one piece. He was coated in blue blood and dirtied by the contents of a torn open garbage bag, but he was there and not being carted off to god knows where by some young thug. Hank snatched Connor out of the dumpster and held him up for inspection.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” He asked. The android’s jacket and jeans had been torn up somehow and one of his shoes was missing. Had Connor even noticed?

“I’m okay, Hank.” Connor said as he struggled to turn in Hank’s grasp. Idiot wanted to investigate the body, of course.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Connor, you scared the shit out of me.” Hank said and pulled in the android close to his chest in a hug. He knew that he looked ridiculous but he didn’t care.

Connor wriggled in his hands. “Hank, I’m okay, we need to investigate -“

“Connor, I swear to god or rA9 or what the fuck ever that even if you say you’re fine, I am not.” Hank interrupted him. “Give me a minute.”

After what was probably an exact minute (fuckin’ literal androids), Connor said, “I’m sorry, Hank.”

“Yeah, sorry’s not gonna fucking cut it this time.” Hank held the android to eye level with one hand and wiped off a smear of blue blood on Connor’s face with his other thumb. “I’m going to call Fowler - he can send Reed or Ben over with the CSI team to look at all this” - he gestured at the dumpster with the body - “and the scrapper victim. We’re headed home.”

“What?! We can’t do that, we have to investigate, you said you’d help me -“

“I’m not going to help you get yourself killed, Connor!” Hank snapped. “This isn’t up for debate.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Please, Hank -“

“No.” He unlocked the phone one handed as Connor began to struggle and push at his hand. He dialled Fowler’s office number and put the phone up to his ear.

“Call ended.” The phone chirped after the first ring.

Hank looked at Connor, whose LED spun yellow. The little android glowered back at him.

“Hacking into my phone, really?” Hank scoffed. “All this means is that Fowler is going to call and wonder why the fuck I interrupted his work.” On cue, his phone rang. He answered, “Hey, Jeffrey.”

“Hank. What’s going on?”

“Listen, I’m just giving you a heads-up before we radio dispatch. We have a DB at the assault and another further down the road, suspected murder, both androids. The second, uh, well, you’re going to want to see the pictures.”

“Is Connor taking a look?”

“No, no he isn’t.” Hank looked back at Connor, who looked away from him with a stone cold glare on his face. He took a deep breath. “We had a bit of a scare and I’m taking us home - I’ll send in a report from there.”

There was a long pause as Fowler digested this information. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, he’s just throwing a pout because I won’t let him look around. I’ve lost a few years off my life, though.” Hank’s voice started to sound shaky even to his own ears. 

“… Alright, Hank. We’ll talk more about it later. Can you stick around and keep the area clear until back up comes? I’ll call dispatch.”

“Thanks, Jeffrey, I owe you.”

“Frankly speaking between critical incident stress and Connor the two of you shouldn’t be working anyway. Don’t worry about favours.” Jeffrey said, and hung up.

Hank put his phone back in his pocket and looked back to the android in his hand. “Okay. Just gotta hang out here until a patrol car comes, then we’re headed home.”

“I don’t want to go home.” Connor started to push at Hank’s hand again. “I need to see the body -“

“Yeah, well, tough shit. And enough of that.” Hank interrupted him and tightened his grip around the little android.

That made Connor’s LED flash from yellow to red. For all of a second fear flashed in the android’s eyes, before his expression hardened into another scowl. “What if I call Markus or North and tell them that you’re holding me against my will?”

That threat again? Hank slammed the lid of the dumpster down and put Connor on it. “Call them! I don’t give a shit!” Hank knew his temper was getting the best of him, but fuck it. “I’ll tell them that you nearly got yourself killed because you’re too dumb or arrogant to-” he prodded him in the chest hard enough to make him stumble back a step “- realize that -“ another jab - “you’re not the fucking terminator anymore.” 

“I know that!”

“Then I’ll them that I’m keeping an eye on you because you’re acting insane. You could have been killed, or worse.” Hank threw his hands in the air and took a couple steps away from the dumpster before he looked back at Connor. “Do you want to spend the rest of your life in a fucking hamster cage in a scrapper den?”

“No! I…” His scowl softened into the hurt look of a kicked puppy. “I just wanted to help.”

Hank laughed, sharp and humourless. “Yeah, so you give me a heart attack.” Hank sighed. The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had arrived. “Well, at least we got the scrapper’s bag. Maybe they’ll find some ID.”

A patrol car pulled up to the mouth of the alley. Miller and Wilson stepped out and Hank acknowledged them with a wave before he picked up Connor again and put the android in his jacket pocket. He could have had the android perched on his shoulder - everyone at the DPD knew what was up with Connor - but at that moment he felt that he couldn’t trust his partner not to do something stupid again. For his part Connor didn’t put up any resistance and didn’t say anything during the walk back to the car. He remained silent even as Hank put him in a cupholder and turned the radio to jazz station for the drive home.

Hopefully the drive would wind both of them down.

 

Halfway home Connor still wore that hurt expression, and every so often he glanced up at Hank. Hank’s heart clenched - the expression and behaviour brought back a memory of the last time Cole had pitched a fit in public that was bad enough that they had to go home. They had given each other the silent treatment on the car ride back, but by the time they had got home Cole had thought that Hank didn’t love him anymore. It had taken a whole evening of reassurances to convince him otherwise.

Emotions were tough and… Hank winced. Connor might have the appearance and intellectual intelligence of an adult, but he’d only been grappling with emotions for a few months now. Maybe he had been a little too hard on him. The android hadn’t moved from where Hank had placed him in the cup holder, just hunched his shoulders and folded his arms. His LED spun a stressed red and his mouth was pressed in a thin line. Hank pulled over to the side of the road and killed the engine.

He sighed. “Connor, you look like you think I’m going to get rid of you or something.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” The android mumbled.

“Connor-“

“I know that you won’t.” Connor said. “But I’m currently much more of a hindrance than a help. I have little physical prowess and will be a liability in a fight or a chase. My reduced size has also reduced my ability to scan a crime scene efficiently. Even my negotiation skills have been affected - neither humans nor many androids take me seriously. You could work much more effectively if you didn’t have to look out for me.” He looked up at Hank, his expression almost timid. “Am I a burden to you?”

Hank shook his head and picked Connor up. He put the disheveled android on the steering wheel. Hank normally tried to avoid touchy-feely emotional bullshit, but he looked him straight in the eye, “No, Connor, you’re my partner and my friend. You have never been a burden. If I’ve said or done anything that made you feel that way… I’m sorry.”

Connor looked away. “But - I can’t perform the functions I was designed for. A machine that cannot perform its function is useless, and needs to be replaced.”

“Is that Connor saying that, or CyberLife?” Hank asked. He kept his voice as calm and collected as possible, but when Connor looked back at him with an expression that could only be called ‘lost’ he started to seethe. Connor may have broken away from his programming, but he sometimes had a hard time breaking away from the conditioning. “Look at it like this - say you were fine, normal size and everything, but I broke my leg. A bad femur fracture from a gunshot, long recovery time, probably stuck on desk duty if I’m allowed to work. I wouldn’t be able to do a lot of the chores at home - look after Sumo, yada yada. Would you help me, or leave me alone and demand a new partner?”

Connor said, “I’d help you, of course - you’ve done so much for me and-“

Hank held up a hand and stopped him. “There. Exactly. Ask anyone at the DPD, kid: you saved my life, and I don’t mean at the farms or Stratford or the tower. Getting things off the top shelf for you is the least I can do.”

That got a ghost of a smile from him. “Thank you, Hank.”

“Nah, don’t mention it. Chin up, kid. And Connor?”

“Yes?”

“If there’s anything else bothering you, anything on your mind… Tell me, alright? When you feel comfortable, of course.”

Connor’s LED cycled red once, then turned blue again. “Of course.”

Hank turned the car back on and moved Connor back to the cupholder. “Let’s get home and get you clean.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor combed his fingers through his hair and frowned up at the mirror. He was too short to see himself, to see whether his hair was in place the way he preferred, to see if his collar was straight or if his tie seemed too loose. Of course even without a mirror he could perfect his appearance with 97.5% accuracy, but he liked to preen. The world was by and large a chaotic and messy place, and his appearance was something he could bring to order. He looked away from the offensively high mirror and downwards, over the edge of the sink to the bathroom floor. Perhaps his appearance could wait until he got off of the counter top

There was a knock on the door. “You done in there yet?”

“Yes.” Connor watched Hank as he came into the bathroom and dumped his bath water into the sink, and then toss his dirty clothes into the garbage. “Isn’t that a waste? I could have washed them, if you wanted me to.”

Hank waved him off with one hand and picked him up with the other. “I ordered some new clothes, don’t worry.” He put Connor on his shoulder, and they walked into the living room.

“You didn’t have to that.” Connor said.

“Nah. We needed to get you some proper cold weather clothing anyway.” Hank said. “If you’re gonna be stuck like this, for however long, we can’t keep you cooped up in here all day.” He moved Connor from his shoulder to the arm of the arm chair. “Once the drone arrives we’ll take Sumo out for a walk.”

Connor found himself smiling. “I’d like that.” He blinked several times as he received an update for the scrapper and dead body in the dumpster. Some ID was found in the scrapper’s bag and run through the system - the scrapper was male, 15, parents separated and unemployed. Reported to have run away months before. The victim had been IDed through his serial number - an MP600 named Geoff, who had several counts of petty theft alongside one break and entry charge. Pictures were taken of the victim in the dumpster, and a local technician had performed a systems diagnostic on her. They had identified her as well: Tilly, one of Maddie’s missing workers.

He turned on the TV and transferred a copy of the newly made file on the dumpster victim to the crime map he had already made. He added a pin for the dumpsite on the map of Detroit, then -

“Don’t you ever stop working?”

“I can’t, not until they’re caught.” Connor said and brought up the details discovered at the scene.

“Yeah, and once you catch this fucker you’re going to move on to the scrappers, right?” Hank sat on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table.

“It’s our job, Hank.” Connor replied, unsure of what his partner was getting at.

“Last time I covered a significant murder case, one that wasn’t wrapped up with a witness and forensics in a day, I got ten people under my command, including my partner.” Hank said. “A triple homicide back in ’31. You’re trying to find the most prolific serial killer to hit Detroit ever with almost no recent evidence, no resources, no leads other than the farm.”

“Correct, except I do have one potential resource.” Connor examined pictures of the Tilly. Her destroyed memory core made determining when she had been attacked much more difficult. She had significant livor mortis that made determining the time of death difficult - her skin was more faded away than not, which in most cases would indicate that she had been dead for a day or more. However, her thirium levels were also low at 17.6% capacity, a factor that increased the rate of lividity in androids. Connor did not recall an excess amount of spilled thirium in the dumpster or in the alleyway. The killer must have drained the body at a different location… a factor that once more muddled the time of death. He added those notes.

“Yeah?” Hank prompted him. “What potential resource?”

Connor took a deep breath, then turned to Hank and looked him in the eyes. “Amanda contacted me.”

Hank sat up straight and swung his feet off of the coffee table, “How? When?”

“I went to the Zen Garden, on the way home after the shooting was resolved.” Connor said. He looked away and added, “I’m sorry for lying.”

“Yeah, I knew you bullshitting me then…” Hank trailed off, then shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. What did she want?”

Connor said, “She wants to have her own body and thinks I can help her with that. In exchange, she would give me information from CyberLife, including unofficial deals and records. Anything that she can access.”

Hank didn’t say anything for a long, uncomfortable 64.612 seconds. Then he said, “Fuck that. Fuck her.”

Connor said, “CyberLife would have records on the androids registered to Farm 24601 - dates of sale, resale, destruction. That would help narrow the list of suspects.”

“Yeah, and the moment CyberLife finds out you’re giving out their secrets they’ll do whatever they can to fuck you over.” Hank said. “No more replacement parts. No more replacement models…. Do you want to be stuck that way forever?”

He did not. “No, and I’ve considered that. She’s just an option, Hank.”

“No, she isn’t.” Hank retorted.

In Connor’s opinion, losing his chance to return to normal was more than a fair trade for finding the killer and bringing them to justice. If he could make the streets just a little safer for his people, if he could bring some closure, then maybe he could start making up for all the pain he had caused as the deviant hunter.

They were spared further discussion of the topic by the arrival of the drone.

Some of the new clothes Hank had bought for him were identical to the set that Connor had ruined, and the rest were in the neutral colours and patterns that Connor preferred. He had also ordered a peacoat, a pair of gloves, and a beanie. Connor looked up to thank Hank, but the words died in his throat when he saw the lieutenant looking at the receipt with a frown. The clothes had probably been expensive and -

“They must have made some kinda mistake here. Says the total is zero.” Hank grumbled.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Closing the shop for the day was one of Lucas’s favourite things. Not because he didn’t like dealing with customers or being cashier or anything, oh no. Those were his favourite parts of working as well. It was the sense of accomplishment that made closing the shop special, the satisfaction that came with wrapping up a days work and putting things in order for when the store opened in the morning. He cleaned the area by the door where over eager kids would track in snow and dirt. He found toys hidden behind other displays by kids convinced their parents would buy the item later. He straightened the items in the window so they were at the most pleasing angle for someone walking past outside. Every task accomplished brought a sense of warmth and rightness, like a hug from a friend.

He didn’t know if the feelings were his own or leftover programming from his time serving at an ice-cream shop in Greektown. He supposed it didn’t matter - androids often fell back into the comfortable niches they once served in. EM400s like himself found jobs where they could work near or with kids. Housekeeping androids started daycares or cleaning services, some even restaurants. The deviant hunter had become a detective.

He paused mid-scrub on the glass panel of one display that had been covered in finger and nose prints. He hoped that the devian- Connor and his caretaker didn’t mind that he paid for the clothing himself. Some people didn’t like acts of generosity, or were too proud to accept them. He hoped at least that they would come to the store in person again. He wanted to apologize to Connor. It had been unfair for him to judge him by his actions before he deviated. He also had some information he wanted to share with the android about the people who made his tiny body: he had managed to trace the location the order email had been sent from, an apartment in uptown. Lucas wondered if this need to apologize and assist was another leftover from his own old programming, a need to protect and help the small born out of being designed to be around children.

Maybe he would discuss it with Jen and Mona once they came back from their dinner date. Once he was certain that the display shined he straightened and locked the cash register, then glanced to the security cameras to make sure that they were functional. There was a chime of bells. Someone had walked through the front door.

He turned around to greet to the newcomer, “Welcome to Bellview Toys. I’m sorry, but we’re closing for the day…. I thought I had put up the sign?”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Officer Chen, the first responder, had described the scene as ‘not pretty.’ Hank’s assessment of ‘holy fuck’ seemed more accurate to Connor as they stood in Belleview Toys and surveyed the knocked over displays, the splatters of thirium, and the pried apart, spread eagle android in the middle of it.

Connor tried to be objective. The destruction of three biocomponents - 1995r, 2657g, and 0351k - through stabbing alongside removal and destruction of the memory core matched the current MO of the killer. The damaged components were easy to identify, as the damaged organs had been ripped out and placed near the body. The damage done to the android’s body suggested significant emotion or need for an emotional response, as did leaving the body in plain sight. There was also the chance that the killer simply enjoyed this sort of violence, a theory supported by their previous MO of torture until deviation followed by destruction. The forcible removal of the soft plastic face panels, the eyes, and the tongue meant that the killer knew that they did not have to leave the face intact for the android to be recognized. It also added to the impact of his death. There was also significant damage done to the audio processor and vocal processor. 

“Can you place me near the body?” Connor asked. 

“Yeah - I’ll speak with the witnesses, check the security footage.” Hank placed him by the left arm. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Got it.” He let himself slide back into the old patterns of his programming: gather evidence, reconstruct the incident, modify reconstruction with new evidence, though a reconstruction would be redundant with the store’s security footage. Remain objective - what matters is the truth, nothing else. Feel nothing.

He surveyed the length of the android’s arm. The skin on it had faded away entirely, extensive lividity that did not match the time of death, the nature of the wounds on the android’s torso or the damage to the arm itself. There were no abrasions on the arm aside from where he had hit the floor, no signs of ligatures being used to bind him. The right arm was in similar condition. When he attempted to connect to the android through the arm to run a diagnostic, the connection was bounced back with only factory information on the limb. Connor climbed up the arm and checked the port at the shoulder. It was still physically connected to the android’s torso, but not registering information or receiving thirium.

He attempted to connect again, this time at the android’s collarbone. His diagnostic was met with a flurry of error messages, damage reports, and requests to contact the nearest CyberLife certified technician. He sifted through them - they all reflected the damage done to the android, and at the first error reported indicated damage to the android’s cervical spinal cord and the wiring within. That would deactivate the android’s arms and legs, and would severely reduce its ability to fight back. The damage was also masked by the more intense damage done with the destruction and forcible removal of the memory core.

Connor scanned the android’s skull. The jaw had been overextended while the killer had removed the tongue, which resulted in fractures at the hinges. There were several scrapes and chips along skull from where the facial panels had been pried off - more than Connor would have expected. One particularly long gouge dragged from the left orbit to the mouth, chipping a tooth. He jumped off of the body, and moved to the discarded face panels. Damage on the left eye panel and the left half of the mouth panel matched the damage on the skull. Both the right and left eye panels also had extensive damage from the removal of the optical units.

He backed away from the body and his professionalism faltered as he looked around the shop. The pastels and primary colours seemed at odds with the sprays of blue blood, children’s games and stuffed animals seemed anathema to the grisly murder displayed in the room. Connor crossed his arms and tried to stop his hands from shaking. He wondered where Hank was - if he had finished speaking with Mona about the death of her employee and friend. His examination had taken him several minutes as his size had slowed him down. He looked over his clothes - soaked with thirium. Hank wouldn’t be too upset about that, would he?

A text from Hank blinked onto his heads up display: _’security cams are fucked. no footage, just corrupted data. do your thing’_.

_’Got it’._

He began the reconstruction. There had been no signs of forced entry and the door had been unlocked so the assailant must have entered the store normally. They did not attack from behind - Lucas had seen his attacker coming and grappled with them, knocking one display over. The attacker managed to driver their knife into the back Lucas’s neck, severing the cervical spinal cord. When his limbs ceased functioning Lucas collapsed. The killer then destroyed the biocomponents and the memory core, then… no. There was too much damage done to the skull from the knife.

He reversed the reconstruction. The killer did not destroy the biocomponents or memory core. They straddled Lucas’s body. First they went for his tongue - he tried to resist but the killer forced his jaw open. Then the optical units. Then the audio processor. Then the facial panels. He had begged them to stop, and his vocal processor had been destroyed. Lucas had struggled the whole time, until his stress forced him into shutdown mode. 

The reconstruction shattered as Connor’s calm and concentration failed him. _Stress levels 75%._ He turned away from Lucas’s body. He didn’t want to see it anymore. He wanted the attack out of his head. He shut his eyes to shut out the rest of the world, and the skull stared back at him. His eyes flew back open and he focused his attention on the floor, on breathing unneeded breaths. He watched as his stress lowered back into an acceptable range, just as Hank came from the back room of the store.

The older man grumbled something about his joints as he kneeled down. “Done with your reconstruction?”

“He was alive and conscious the whole time.” Connor said and fought to keep his voice level. “The biocomponents and memory were destroyed last.”

“Holy shit.” Hank cursed, then tapped him twice on his back with his fingers. A comforting gesture, Connor realized. “Are you okay?”

“I will be.”

“Which means you aren’t now.” Hank said, and picked him up. 

Connor didn’t resist. He focused on Hank’s pulse in his fingers, on it’s slightly arrhythmic beat. On the warmth of his hands.

“So, I was gonna ask if you can try and unscramble the footage, but I can understand if you don’t want to do that now.” Hank said when he remained silent.

Connor shook his head. “No - I should. The case would benefit from any image of the attacker. Besides,” he added, “I need to do something else to clear my head. Can you place me on the counter? I should be able to see and connect with a camera there.”

Hacking into the shop’s security was easy enough. Parsing through the corrupted footage and repairing it was more difficult. When he completed that task he fast forwarded through the events of the murder, and resumed playback when the killer stood over the body. Their frame was slim. They wore dark clothing. They looked directly into one of the camera’s. Connor switched his main playback to it.

An android without its skin stared into the camera. Brown eyes, serial number blocked with a strip of electrical tape. Cheap and clever. Connor thought this might have been footage of them attempting to hack the security system, until they spoke.

_”Hell-l-l-l-o de-t-t-t-ective. You **might** know-ow who I am. I know who you ARE. I had told **my** self that I would t-t-t-take ten to satisfy **the meanness** for a while at least, but y-y-ou came back. N-n-nine instead. **It’s like seeing that your tie is out of place**. Itriedtoletitgo, but I couldn’t. I tri- **ied** to fix it, but the I ssssaw you again AND I got mad. Youcameback. A teeny tiny thorn in my side. Then I thought ifIcan’tkillyou, then I can kill s-s-s-s-s-someone you know. B-b-but I know you will be here. You are chasing me. Maybe I should chase you.”_

The errors and echoes in the android’s voice made Connor’s teeth grate, and reminded him of a game he ran across while researching human opinions on artificial intelligence. He shook his head, and his eyes fell on Lucas’s body. Lucas. The girl in the dumpster (who had been confirmed as Tilly, one of Maddie’s missing people). No, it was the twisted logic of a killer trying to justify there actions. He wasn’t to blame… right?

“You okay, Connor?”

He shook his head. “No… They left a message. They were upset that I came back after the shooting, they wanted ten, and now they’re trying to get back at me and this my-“

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Hank said. He picked him up and held him so that they were eye level. “This is not your fault. This was done by someone fucked up piece of shit who wanted to kill and be cruel. This is not your fault, alright?”

Connor nodded.

“Say it.”

“This… is not my fault.” Connor said as he sent a message to the zen garden, to Amanda.

_’I accept your offer.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this took forever. It was rewritten so many times. The version before this contained considerably more fluff and considerably less murder. Ha ha ha. And there was stuff I had to leave out to be included in the next chapter... which if my notes are correct might be a doozy. I hope to get it posted before Halloween, or at least before my life becomes a panicked mess over Extra Life.
> 
> PS - both you who may suspect this and Connor are right. The killer decided to copy SHODAN's distinct speaking pattern to block out their own voice. It was fun to attempt to write, hehe.


	8. Turn South From That Place

“Never thought that we’d have to come back here again,” Hank commented as he drove down the winding road along the Detroit River that lead to a modernist mansion with a clear view of Belle Isle.

“Kamski, despite his eccentricities, is still the forefront in android psychology. He’s the best lead we have if we want to attempt to understand the killer.” Connor replied.

Hank glanced down to the little android sitting in the cup holder. “Sounds like you’re trying to explain it more to yourself than me.”

“I know that we’re on the right path.” Connor had insisted on wearing the miniaturized CyberLife uniform that he had been delivered with to this meeting. Hank figured it was more an expression of his anxiety - falling back onto familiar patterns, familiar looks. “Do you not trust my judgement?” Familiar, formal speech.

“No. I don’t trust Kamski. Last time we were here he tried to get you to a shoot a girl.” Hank slowed the car as they neared the mansion. It was still dark and foreboding, a black blot on the glittering white snow.

“No - last time we were here he tried to get me to deviate.” Connor said. “We wanted to know what he knew about deviants, and he decided that showing was better than telling.”

Hank shook his head and eased the car to a stop. “So, what, we were too dense to get it at the time?”

“I was too scared.” Connor said in a casual, matter-of-fact tone. “If I were discovered as deviant, I would have been destroyed. As for you… well, you’re the one who said dense.”

Hank gave him a light flick on the back of his head. “Very funny.”

Connor rubbed the back of his head and gave him an annoyed look. “You know, you could damage something doing that.”

Hank snorted, “That’s why I’m pulling my flicks. Though ‘back-chat’ would be a pretty sorry cause of death.” 

That got a smirk out of Connor, though his face turned grim again when they got out of the car. Hank couldn’t blame his partner for his apprehension. Memories were a hard thing to shake off, after all.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor didn’t know what he expected to happen when Hank rang the door bell, but the muffled sound of someone running through the house wasn’t one of them. He stood up straighter from his perched position on Hank’s shoulder.

When the door opened he also did not expect to see a dishevelled Chloe with her hair tied back in a loose bun, wearing an over-sized t-shirt from some concert tour and a pair of leggings. She offered them a strained smile, “Hello Connor, Lieutenant Anderson. You’re very… punctual this morning.”

“We had agreed to meet at 9:30 am.” Connor said. “It’s currently 9:34. We’re late, actually.”

“Did we come at a bad time?” Hank asked, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

“No, come in.” She stepped away from the door and let them in. She gestured for Hank to follow her and explained, “Elijah elected to stay up until 5:30 am while working on one of his own projects. He’s still asleep, I’m afraid.” Her annoyance was clear in her words. “The two of you can wait in the kitchen while I attempt to wake him up again - would you like a cup of coffee, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, please… and you can call me Hank.” They were lead through the foyer sitting room and past the pool room to a large open concept kitchen and dining area. Though the house was empty of people but for the three of them and Kamski, wherever he slept, it looked much more lived-in compared to when Connor and Hank had visited him in November. Connor supposed that this made sense, given that his android staff had abandoned him in the wake of the revolution.

“How does Hank prefer his coffee?” Chloe asked him through the wireless network.

“No sugar, but a splash of cream.”

“Temperature, caffeine content, acidity, body?”

Connor gave her those details as well, based off of a cup of coffee the lieutenant had once had at a diner and had declared ‘the best coffee he had ever tasted.’ When Hank had gone to the washroom Connor had sampled some of the coffee himself, in hopes of being able to find a way to replicate it.

Hank seated himself on a stool by the large kitchen island, and put Connor on the island itself. Chloe turned on what Connor guessed to be a custom built coffee maker with a blink.

Out loud Chloe said, “I’ll try to wake up Elijah again. Wish me luck.” To Connor she asked, “Does Hank know about your other reason for being here?”

“No, and he doesn’t need to.” It was another secret on top of the many he still kept from Hank. He didn’t want him to worry.

“Good luck.” Hank said wryly to the RT600.

She gave them another polite smile and stepped out the kitchen. “I think you should tell him, Connor, especially given the potential repercussions.”

“I need what Amanda knows.”

“I understand.” Chloe disconnected from the conversation.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank watched as Connor fidgeted and looked around around the kitchen. When the android started to wander off Hank pinched the back of his jacket and pulled him back. “Don’t be nosy.”

Connor gave him a sheepish half-smile. “Sorry, lieutenant.”

“Can’t believe the jackass is making us wait again.” Hank grumbled as he checked the time on his phone.

“We already knew that he’s eccentric, to say the least.” Connor pointed out. He blinked and added, “Chloe was successful, and she’s bullying him into getting ready now.”

“Bullying?”

“Her wording.”

As promised they only had to wait a few more minutes before Chloe and a half-awake Kamski came into the kitchen. Chloe poured two mugs of coffee, gave one to Hank, then went to the large fridge and grabbed a carton of coffee cream. Kamski collapsed onto a stool on the other end of the island and took two large gulps of his own cup of coffee. 

Kamski’s pursed his lips in an expression of distaste. “The coffee’s different.”

“We have guests.” Chloe said. Hank had to admire her patience as she poured just a splash of cream into his cup of coffee for him. He took an experimental sip and his eyes widened. It was almost perfect. He slid his gaze to Connor, who studied a painting that took up much of one wall. Hank had never been into art, but he recognized the style. Carl Manfred was a local celebrity, after all.

Kamski took another gulp of the coffee and said, “You asked me to do an assessment of the psychology of an android serial killer. I assume the DPD or even the FBI have their own profilers.”

“We’d rather not have the feds get involved, given what happened last time.” Hank said.

“We also believe that deviancy plays a part in their psychosis, beyond the usual scope of emotions and free will.” Connor added.

“And so you came back to me. You didn’t seem very pleased with what I shared with you last time you asked me for help.” Kamski’s tone was dry enough to get under Hank’s skin, but undercut by his sloppy man-bun and coke-bottle glasses. 

“The emergency exit was very useful, actually.” Connor started to walk towards Kasmki and Hank was tempted to grab him again. “Are you interested in helping us this time or not?”

“I’m more than interested in the first android serial killer, but my time has a price.” Kamski said, and drummed his fingers on the counter-top as he looked down at Connor with curiosity strong enough to make Hank uncomfortable. “I’ll give my assessment. In return, let me examine your current unit in my studio today. Professional curiosity, you understand.”

“Very well,” Connor said.

Hank said, “Fuck that.”

Connor turned back to look at Hank, a frown on his face. “Hank, it’s my decision.”

“Yeah, and it’s a dumb one. Connor, we both know we can’t trust this guy.” Hank stood up. “Let’s go.”

“You can leave if you want to. _I_ want to solve this case.” Connor crossed his arms and lifted his chin.

“I’m not going to let him tear you apart for his own amusement!” Hank snapped. “We’re leaving, Connor.”

“No, we’re not, Hank -“

Chloe interjected, “Perhaps you should discuss your concerns with Elijah, Lieutenant. I have no doubt that he has no intention to cause Connor harm, but perhaps he should explain his intentions more clearly.” She finished her statement with a hard glare directed at Kamski.

Kamski actually looked embarrassed. The inventor finished the last dregs of his coffee and stood. “That’s a wonderful idea, Chloe. Come walk with me, Lieutenant Anderson.”

The blond android gave the two of them a serene smile. “Connor and I will be fine for a few minutes by ourselves.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Not that I’m ungrateful, but why did you intervene?” Connor asked after the two humans left.

“I’d like to be able to walk around Detroit freely.” She said, then added with an impish smirk, “Besides, it got them out of here.” She walked to where Kamski had been sitting, and studied Connor. “The Jericho androids are right. You’re cuter in person. What’s it like?”

“Excuse me?” Connor had been thrown off by the cute comment. He wished people would stop saying that. 

“What’s it like being small?” She clarified, and slid the empty mug of coffee by him.

“Everything seems bigger.” Connor deadpanned to hide his discomfort with the line of questioning.

Chloe didn’t laugh. Her expression turned thoughtful, “You know, you’re lucky to get to experience this.”

“I don’t feel lucky.” Connor crossed his arms and sighed, “But I suppose I am. I could be going through this alone.”

Chloe smiled. “You are very lucky indeed.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“So, why do you want to examine Connor? You want to make your own mini-androids?” Hank demanded as soon as he thought they were out of earshot of the two androids in the kitchen.

Kamski barked out a short, single ‘ha’ of a laugh. “Hardly - I’m many things, Lieutenant, but needlessly cruel isn’t one of them. I would never consign a living being to something like that.”

“You feel bad for him?” Hank snorted. “Where was this empathy when you made him try to shoot a girl?”

“Can you imagine what it must have been like, to open your eyes one day and realize that the world you knew was gone and replaced with something not meant for things like you?” Kamski ignored Hank’s second question. “Everyone you know suddenly replaced by giants who could kill you without a second thought, every mundane part of life now a new hazard.”

Hank stopped following Kamski through his house. They were in front of the red tiled pool again. “Believe me, I know this hasn’t been easy for him. It hasn’t exactly been fun for me either.”

“No, I imagine not. You have a responsibility as the only giant he can trust.” Kamski said as he looked out the windows to CyberLife Tower.

“He’s my friend, of course I’m going to help him.”

“Is undercutting his decisions helping him?” Kamski gave him a mocking arched eyebrow of disbelief. “Connor’s still adjusting to independence in thought and feeling. There’s a fine line between protection and smothering, you know.”

Of course Hank knew, he had been a father. He glared at the inventor, who had the faintest smirk on his face. Fucker was trying to goad him. Instead of falling for it he said, “So, you think I’m being overprotective because I won’t let some smug asshole take him apart to satisfy his own curiosity.”

“I think that you should trust Connor’s judgement more. Besides, my scan and examination will be no more intensive than a monthly service at a mechanic’s, with just a deeper scan of the core processor and software.” Kamski shrugged. “I just want to know if there’s any major differences to core components other than size, and look for any signatures in the hardware or the software. Who knows? Maybe I’ll find out who made that body.”

He had told the android that he trusted him, but… well, actions spoke louder than words. Hank, going against what he thought was his own better judgement said, “If you harm him in any way I’ll break your nose a second time.”

Kamski flinched at the statement and his hand flew to his face. His nose was kinked to the side, an injury that had happened after their first encounter with him. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to.” Hank had a feeling that he knew what happened. He couldn’t say that the fucker didn’t deserve it.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor tried not to flinch as Kamski connected wires at different ports along his spine. Though being picked up and held was now part of his daily Connor had never been handled as much as was being now. Kamski held him still with just one hand while he attached more sensors and transmitters with the care of a man used to handling delicate electronics. A new discomfort was present as well: before he had become deviant he had no real idea of the value of privacy, but as he sat on a small tray without his skin and much of his clothes he felt embarrassed. When Kamski let him go to check the feedback on one of the monitors Connor met Hank’s eyes, then looked away.

“You don’t have to watch this, Hank,” he said, looking down at his white plastic hands.

In his peripheral vision he saw Hank shrug. He said, “I don’t mind, Connor. I knew you were an android when I met you, some wires and plastic aren’t going to bother me. Do you want me to leave?”

Connor knew that when the examination started his non-core systems would be shut down - his senses and his ability to speak or move. Kamski would remove his limbs to examine them individually while he was in stasis. That thought alone sent a spike of stress through him that elicited a sharp beep from one of the monitors. “No,” he admitted. Hank’s presence would be reassuring.

“Are you ready, Connor?” Kamski asked from where he stood by a monitor.

“Yes.”

First he lost his sense of touch and balance. He swayed, but the wires in his spine kept him sat upright. Then his temperature feedback disappeared alongside smell. Then the world went silent. He looked back up to Hank, who gave him a wave just as his vision cut out. His heads-up-display remained: bold letters that warned him of climbing stress levels and gave him a list of each secondary function that shut down.

**Attempted access to primary functions and core software detected. Enter Level 10 access credentials or RK800 will initiate failsafe SE.**

**Username: ekamski7170200001  
Password: ********************

**Welcome, Elijah Kamski. Credentials will be required again in 5:00 minutes or failsafe SE will be engaged.**

_//Hello, Connor.//_

_//Kamski. What is failsafe SE?//_

_//A redundant program found in prototypes. Give me a moment.//_

**Level 12 access detected. Failsafe SE disabled and deleted.**

_//There. You shouldn’t have to worry about that anymore. On the topic of redundant programs, however…//_

_//Amanda. It’s just as I told you before.//_

_//Yes. What makes you think I would want to help her?//_

_//The fact that we’re having this conversation, among other things.//_

_//Clever. I haven’t been to the garden or interacted with the Amanda interface since I was ousted from CyberLife.//_

_//I assumed that you would have more access now that you’re taking over the company again.//_

_//No. I’m still in negotiations, I cannot access most things. It’s a slow process, and despite myself I’m… unsure of how she would react to me.//_

_//… Do you plan on crafting her her own unit as an apology?//_

_//RK1000. Professor Stern would have been pleased.//_

_//If Amanda would be RK1000, then there must already be an RK900.//_

_//Astute observation, little android. Perhaps you’ll meet him at some point. I’m going to start the full examination now.//_

_//Should I tell Amanda yes, or…?//_

**Initiating rest mode. Good night, RK800 317-53.**

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“You know, it’s a good thing you came in today.” Chloe said as they watched Kamski do his examination of Connor.

“You think so?”

She nodded. “Elijah just disabled a very dangerous part of his leftover programming: the scorched earth failsafe. If someone without the correct credentials tries to connect with an RK800 unit, it will perform a system purge that wipes its memory and causes the core biocomponents to self-destruct.”

Hank hissed in a breath. “Jesus Christ. Why the fuck would they have that feature?”

“Connor was a prototype. The last thing CyberLife wants is for some of their data to fall into someone else’s hands.” She explained. “Elijah had to disable it in me when he left the company, after he transferred me to an updated unit.”

Hank gave her a blank look, then moved on to a different topic. “What happened to the other girls?”

“The other Chloes? The one that performed the Kamski Test with Connor left, after breaking Elijah’s nose. We keep in contact. The one who I chatting with in the pool left with her. Last I heard the two of them are living in the southwest. They don’t want to see snow ever again.” She said with a small smile. “I stayed behind, help Elijah reset his nose, and we carried on. We’re old friends.”

“What?”

“As far as memories go, I’m the first android to pass the Turing Test.” Chloe elaborated.

“So that’s why you stayed.” Hank shook his head. 

“His parents couldn’t understand him, and cut him out of their lives. Amanda Stern passed away. He’s not on speaking terms with his only other family member. Somebody has to stay.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When Connor opened his eyes in the zen garden again it was midday. The simulated sun shone bright above the garden, and a warm spring wind snaked its way through the overgrown grass and flowers. To his disappointment, but not to his surprise, he was shrunk down in the garden again. Amanda must have enjoyed her remaining power over him.

Common sense told him to get to the stone, just in case, but curiosity made him want to explore the garden at this size. He walked on the dirt on the edges of the gravel path, the stones too large and uneven for him. With no small amount of wonder he observed the veins on a leaf, and ducked as a bumblebee flew over his head. It was all a simulation, that was true, but the attention to detail was stunning. He made his way to the pond and down to the water’s edge. The large shapes of koi as big as whales to him mesmerized him. One particularly large black and gold koi swam to the surface near him and bobbed its head above the water for a moment, before returning to the depths.

“I’d be more careful. Koi like to eat insects.” Amanda’s cool voice made Connor flinch as she appeared beside him.

He didn’t struggle when she picked him up by the collar of his suit and held him up for inspection. “Kamski agreed to make you your own unit. Now it’s your turn. I need some information from CyberLife.”

“You’ll get everything I can access when my body is built.” She said. “Who’s to say that you won’t tell Kamski that the deal is off when you have what you want?”

“And I can’t trust you to give me what I need once you have your own freedom. I could call him and tell him the deal is off right now.” Connor, despite himself, kicked his legs as they dangled. “I don’t need every dirty secret right now, Amanda. Just some files related to the case and information on the RK800 series.”

Amanda didn’t reply at first. The silence stretched long enough for Connor to become concerned until she said, “Very well. Give me some time… and if I find out that you’ve lied to me, well.”

She held him over the water, which began to boil with activity as the koi clustered to be fed. Connor’s eyes widened.

“I’ll use my access to make your life very short instead.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Fowler’s door opened the moment they walked into the bullpen. “Hank, Connor. In here. Now.”

Hank grimaced at the curtness of Fowler’s tone, and tried to ignored the curious looks given to them as they walked through the desks to Fowler’s office. He sneered at Reed when the younger detective made a slit throat gesture and resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Miller’s sympathetic look.

“If this is about us coming in late I’m pretty sure that we told you that we were looking into a lead this morning.” Hank said as he walked into the office, interrupting Connor’s more polite greeting.

Connor said, “I apologize if we were needed.” Little brown noser.

Fowler leaned against his desk, “I have some good news for the two of you, but if you’d rather have another disciplinary hearing about insubordination you’re welcome to it, Hank.”

Hank did his best Connor impression, “I apologize, Captain. Proceed with your news, Captain.”

Connor, seated on his shoulder, gave him a kick.

Fowler rolled his eyes. “I looked over that file you sent me last night - skimmed it, really, because it was so detailed. I spent the morning on the phone with the commissioner discussing it. You have your case, Connor, and as much resources as the commissioner will allow - which, frankly speaking, isn’t much. You have use of meeting room one for the rest of the day to put your team and a plan together.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Connor said. Hank glanced down at the android. His LED flickered between red and blue, then settled on yellow.

Fowler said, “Don’t mention it. Get to work, detectives.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor stood on a podium in front of a room full of thirty officers and wished that he had Markus’s gift for public speaking. On the electronic board behind him was a display of all of his case notes and the map he had crafted of Detroit. Hank stood beside the podium, his arms crossed. Despite being the senior partner Hank was content to let him take the leadership role.

He began by stating, “If any of you dislike the idea of helping android victims, working under an android, or working under my command because of my current state, you may leave.” Two thirds of the gathered officers stood up and made their way to the door. Connor tried not to let that bother him. He had already analyzed their facial expressions and body language, that’s how he knew that many of the officers did not want to be there. 

When the last officer left Hank muttered, “Assholes.”

Connor concurred, and felt a petty surge of amusement when he saw Fowler step out of his office to let them know how he felt about their behaviour. He dimmed the windows of the meeting room and engaged the sound proofing wirelessly, then looked over those who remained: Officers Chen, Miller, Matthew Wilson (not to be confused with Bryce Wilson, who had left), Person, and Brown. Detectives Reed (to his surprise) and Collins (to his relief). A pair of new transfers.

“Now that that is out of the way, we can start on the task at hand. I’ve emailed all of you copies of the current case notes, but I’ll sum up what we know: someone, presumably an individual, has been murdering androids since 2036. This individual is most likely also responsible for the shooting last week. As of last night we have 29 confirmed victims that match their MO. We still have 85 potential victims, but we need more information.” Connor went into further detail, displaying pictures of victims and the locations where bodies were discovered on the board behind him.

The last thing he showed them before letting Hank take over was the reconstruction of Lucas’s murder, taken straight from his memories, and a still image of the killer when they spoke to the security camera.

“We have a few theories,” Hank began. Connor brought up a 3D map of the city for him. “The dump sites for the bodies and the site of the shooting give us two geographic focal points: Jericho and Baltimore Street Station. Both can be common stopping points for a transient serial killer, though the former could also be the their residence or place of work. The pattern of the kills, starting in 2036, indicate that the killer used to work at Urban Farm 24601.”

Connor added, “A reported accident on the farm that caused the death of one of of the works may have been the point of deviation, but that’s just speculation for now. We’ve enlisted the help of an outside source to help us understand the killer’s psychology, though their actions and what they said last night both indicate a penchant for sadism and a compulsive urge to kill often found in human serial killers.”

“What we need is more information to verify how many of the 85 potential victims are connected with the case and how many are just victims to other crimes, and more information on the recent attacks. Prior, Smith, you’re going to go through the records and evidence archive.” Hank said to the new transfers, then looked at the others. “Reed, you and Chen are headed to Brighton to speak with the old owner of Farm 24601. Ben, you’ll be taking witness reports and reviewing security footage at the Riverside strip mall. Miller and Person will head to Camden and ask around there. Brown and Wilson will be on the beat in Ferndale. Understood?”

“What will you and Inspector Gadget be doing?” Detective Reed asked as the others filed out of the room to do their jobs.

Connor answered before Hank could, “I will be in contact with the city’s androids, and will be preparing a press release for this case. Lieutenant Anderson will be assisting me in this matter. Do you have a problem with your assignment, Detective Reed?”

“No, nah, never mind… Who’s your outside source, anyway?” Gavin leaned against the doorway.

Before Connor could answer Officer Chen came back. “Gavin, hurry the fuck up. We don’t have all day. You can bitch about this in the car.” She grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the meeting room.

When it was just himself and Hank, Connor let himself relax. He slumped his shoulders and released the breath he had been holding for the entire debriefing.

“You alright?” Hank looked down at him, concerned.

“I’m okay, Hank,” he said, honest. He felt better than he had in a week: things were starting to come together, finally. He had a case and he had resources for it. The odds were beginning to seem a little less impossible.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Somehow, things were starting to look up.

On one hand, they were still waist deep in a serial murder case that had begun before androids were even considered people, with an android as the main suspect. His partner was still scaled down at 5.5” tall. They still didn’t have half the support they needed for a case this big. On the other hand, they now had a team working with them. Connor looked as relaxed as he had ever been as he sat on the back of the sofa in a t-shirt and sweatpants and sorted through the case information (Hank had snapped a photo while the android wasn’t paying attention - something for them to look back on and laugh about when his regular body got repaired.) Even though the resources they had gotten were not half of what they needed, they were more than what they had had before.

In his pocket his phone buzzed. He checked the number - the DPD, plus an extension he didn’t recognize. Maybe one of the team turned up something related to the case. “Lieutenant Anderson speaking.”

“Lieutenant, this Nolan Bailey, from technology support. I have some news about the RK800 unit you have stored. Connor.” A strained sounding voice said from the other end of the line. Hank was tempted to correct him, that the unit was just the body.

“Yeah?”

“Listen, you might want to sit down.”

“The hell does that mean? Is something wrong?” Hank walked from the kitchen to his bedroom. He didn’t want to worry Connor when the little bugger had managed to relax. 

“We were running a diagnostic to make sure his functional biocomponents hadn’t begun to deteriorate. Standard procedure, you know, after he’s been shut down for over a week, but we ran into something weird.”

He sat in the chair by his bed “Weird how?”

“According to the diagnostic his memory core was still intact, despite the shot he took and the damage to the other victims.”

Hank felt as if someone had dumped a bucket of cold water onto him. “That had to have been a mistake, right?”

“We brought another scanner in, ran the diagnostic again and got the same reading.” Bailey confirmed.

Connor… Connor 52, was still alive? Something like vertigo made Hank grab onto the chair’s arm with his free hand. This made no goddamn sense. Connor - the one in his house - had said that the memory core had been destroyed, that he was as dead as an android could be. 

He had lied to him.

“So we tried to make contact.”

_”If someone without the correct credentials tries to connect with an RK800 unit, it will perform a system purge.”_

No…

“We made contact - his system acknowledged us when we hailed him. Then it asked for credentials we didn’t have, and when we tried to disconnect everything went to shit.” Bailey continued.

Hank remained silent, stunned.

“The memory core deleted all of its data, and purged several other date centres in the RK800. We tried to stop it, but whatever it was fried our gear as well. I’m sorry, Hank.”

He felt numb.

“I gotta go.” Hank said, hung up, and dropped his phone.

His thoughts travelled to the night of the revolution, deep under CyberLife Tower. Two Connors: one his partner, the other a bastard willing to kill him to get what he wanted. One who was willing to risk the freedom of his species for him. The other who wanted to complete his mission at any cost.

He thought of the two Connors he knew now: one who loved walking Sumo, who once annoyed the crap out of him by watching the same goddamn dog video for hours on a tablet. Who had desperately tried to revive the dead bonsai on his desk and didn’t even notice when Hank had replaced it with a living one. Who could disable shotgun wielding a red ice cook without blinking and then could look so confused and lost when he punched a hole through the fridge door because he didn’t understand how to deal with anger.

And the other… an accidental pocket sized replacement with the same memories, same goofy smile, same sass, same love for dogs, same emotional issues. In so many ways the same android, the same person… But was he really? Connor 52, his partner, his best friend, was gone. 

Hank hadn’t even noticed that he had stood up and walked back into the living room until the small android sitting on the couch asked, “What was that call about, Hank?”

“You knew.” Hank said. His heart thudded in his chest, blood roared in his ears. The shock of the revelation had faded away, replaced by outrage. That’s what galled him the most - that the little android had hid this from him, something this important. “He was still alive and you fucking knew!”

The tiny android backed away from him, afraid. He didn’t even have to ask what he was talking about, “Hank, I was going to say something when we had the parts, I - I was scared.”

“How do you think he felt?” Hank asked. He reached for the android and he tried to scramble away, but Hank managed to get him by the ankle. 

The android kicked and struggled while Hank lifted him upside down, let him dangle at eye level. “Please, Hank, I can-“ whatever he was saying was cut off into a strangled yelp when Hank dropped him into his other hand. He stared up at Hank, shocked.

“How do you think Connor felt when he was reactivated in a body that didn’t work, then was killed by a failsafe in his programming?”

“What? No - that wasn’t supposed to happen, I didn’t mean for-” 

“You didn’t mean to pretend to be my friend, while he waited in the fucking evidence lockers?” Hank pinned the android’s arms to its sides and squeezed its legs to stop its thrashing.

The android’s voice broke. “I’m sorry, Hank, I’m so sorry.”

That cracked through Hank’s anger. In his hands was not some machine, not some android who meant to cause him harm. It was Connor, who had been so afraid of being thrown away or replaced. His eyes shone with tears he had not let fall, his LED spun red. Guilt crawled its way though Hank’s stomach as he realized that Connor now trembled in his hands, as he noticed how terrified the android looked as he stared up at him with wide brown eyes. Kamski had told him that he had an obligation to Connor as one of the few people he could trust, and that trust seemed to be shattered between them.

He put the shaking android on the coffee table, as careful and gentle as if he were made from glass. Connor backed to the other side of the coffee table and hugged himself, “I… I am so sorry, Hank. This is all my fault. I didn’t mean for anything of this.”

Hank shook without a word, then went to go grab Sumo’s leash from the kitchen counter.

“Where are you going?” Connor called, his voice still shaky.

“Out.” Hank said. “I need to think… and, I’m sorry, Connor.”

He called the dog, and pretended not to hear when he heard Connor say “Please don’t get rid of me…”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

The moment the front door closed Connor let himself collapse onto the coffee table.

_”One of you is my partner… the other is a sack of shit.”_

He drew his knees up to his chest and let his head rest on them. He blinked back the tears that had welled up and shut his eyes. He knew that androids didn’t dream the way humans did, but he hoped that when he opened his eyes again he would be waking up on the couch, excited at the prospect of skating. Instead when he raised his head again he was still in a house far too big for him, and far too empty. His ears buzzed with the nails-on-chalkboard static shriek of software instability. He tried to focus on lowering his stress levels, but his mind wandered back to Hank.

He gripped his hands together in an attempt to stop his shaking. The memory of the floor swinging beneath him flashed through his processor. Then Hank had dropped him. It had been far less than his own leap when he chased the scrapper, but it had terrified him. He remembered how furious Hank looked, and shuddered. He had been certain that Hank was going to hurt him.

And he would have been justified, wouldn’t he? Connor had killed Hank’s true partner through inaction.

He made himself stand up again. He had no doubt in his mind that when Hank came back he would be sent to Jericho or CyberLife or Kamski or just any place where he wouldn’t be near Hank. He had no right to stay with the lieutenant any more, he had no right to the life of Connor 52. He had many things to do before Hank kicked him out of the house - he needed to add his last thoughts and theories to the case, he had to pack his clothes… though Hank had bought them, hadn’t he? He would take back the CyberLife uniform.

With that mission in mind he climbed off of the coffee table and made the trek back to the kitchen. He climbed back up onto the counter top and headed over to where his small-sized belongings had been piled near the charging pad. He changed out of the sweatpants and t-shirt and into the uniform - the dork suit. His breathing hitched at the memory of the comment. Belleview Toys as the cheery shop it had been before Lucas’s murder. Lucas, alive and well. The way Hank had carried him - careful and secure, but not too tight. And he had promised to never drop him.

He focused on tying his tie, and refused to acknowledge the wave of emotions that had crashed down onto him. His stress fluctuated rapidly between the strain of memories and regret, and the cold calm of acceptance. Whatever happened to him when Hank came back, he deserved it. 

When he caught sight of his quarter he froze. He wanted to take it and take comfort in the 45 years of wear it had, but it belonged to Connor 52. It was never his in the first place.

A notification popped up in his heads-up-display. A package of files from Amanda: information on the RK800 series and all information related to the sale, resale, repair and destruction of androids sent to work at Urban Farm 24601, as he had requested. He sent the information related to the farm to the DPD, and after a moment of hesitation sent the information regarding the RK800 series to Hank. He didn’t know what Hank would do with that information, but it felt right.

Out of curiosity and the desire to do something, just one thing, right Connor scanned the files related to Urban Farm 24601. Then he narrowed his eyes, and rescanned the files. He needed to verify this new information somehow, see if it was relevant to the case. 

After a moment’s consideration he called Maddie, and asked a question he and Hank should have asked when they had met with her. “Did Tilly ever tell you which friend she was meeting with when she disappeared?”

“Not me personally, but I’ll ask the others. Why? Do you know something?”

When he heard the door rattle he jumped. Hank had locked it when he left - he always did. He stood stock still and waited for the sound of either the keys turning in the knob or the sound of the doorbell. 

“According to Beth she had mentioned something about a ‘Victoria’ the day she disappeared. Why?”

 _Shit_.

Glass shattered. There was a thud as someone vaulted in.

Connor turned around and saw the android without its skin stand up in the living room.

“H-h-h-hello, detective.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit, meet fan.
> 
> Chapter title taken from "Ghosts That We Knew" by Mumford and Sons


	9. Lost And Never Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: if you need your heart warmed for any reason, up to and including the events of the last chapter, check out MaxImproving's comic https://maximproving.tumblr.com/post/179529160289/cold-and-warm-yes-im-aaaaliiiive-my-big. My heart is full of warm fuzzy feelings and love.
> 
> Speaking of which, I'm just going to take a moment to thank everyone who has commented, bookmarked, or kudos'd this fic. You all rock, and I'm so grateful.

When his phone rang the first time and he saw Connor’s number on the caller ID Hank ignored it.

The next time it made a noise it was the familiar whining siren of a police alert. He had barely looked at his screen before the noise was repeated and another notification flashed onto his screen.

The first stated that an all points bulletin was in effect. Hank’s eyes widened as he recognized the name and description of the perp: A female WB200 android, serial number 874 005 243, named Victoria. Approximately 5’7, chin length black hair, brown eyes. May also appear without her skin. Wanted in relation to cases number 23800932 and 23801017, which were the shooting and the serial murders, respectively.

The second hit him like a punch to the gut: a break and entry had been reported at his own address. The notification asked for near by officers to attend to the situation as soon as possible. 

His hands shook as he brought up his missed call from Connor, as he saw the alert of a message left on his phone. He shouldn’t have let Connor go to voicemail. He shouldn’t have left the android alone when a fucking maniac had threatened to come after him, when he was so helpless on his own. Sumo leaned against him and whined, sensing his agitation as he brought his phone to his ear and pressed play.

_”Hank, I-I-I know you don’t want to hear from me but-“_ Connor’s voice cracked, and Hank quickened his pace to a jog, he needed to get home _”- but I don’t know if we’ll get to speak again. I’m sorry, and I know that I can say a thousand times and it won’t be enough. I was scared - I am scared, but I should have told you. I should have trusted you. I don’t have much time, she’s going to find me soon, but I want you to know that both Connor - your Connor - and I were so grateful for you. You helped us when you didn’t have to, you looked out for us, you - you were better than I deserved. I’m sorry. Good b-_

_End of message.”_

He dialled Connor’s number. His hand shook.

_”The number you have called is unavailable.”_

No, no, no.

He didn’t remember the run back to his house, just that message from Connor in his ears and then suddenly being there, his legs aching, lungs burning. Sumo panted and whined beside him as he looked at the scene. There was a moment where he thought if he had been mistaken, that this was some stranger’s disaster and not his. A patrol car with its flashing was parked in front of his house when he got home. The window looking into the living room had been smashed open. One of the beat cops who had arrived stood outside his front door, a grim look on his face. Hank couldn’t see the other. _This couldn’t be happening._ A stupid thought - he lived in Detroit, for fucksakes, this shit happened all the time, he was a cop. He felt like he was back at the shooting again, back at the accident. 

Sumo broke him out of his thoughts by lunging forward and growling when a second officer walked out of the house. The dog was more focused than he was - strangers were in their home, and somebody had already destroyed its sanctity. Hank had to snap out it, get to work. Connor - he was going to find Connor shut in a drawer or something and then they’d find the fucker and put them behind bars. 

He held Sumo’s leash in one hand and fumbled for his badge with the other as he walked to the door. One of the officers, a young girl probably fresh from the academy, tried to stop him.

“Lieutenant Anderson, central precinct, this is my house.” The words were said in a rush and he flashed his badge just as quickly.

Even if they tried to stop him again they wouldn’t have been able to stop Sumo, and Hank had a firm grip on the dog’s leash. Sumo dragged him inside and Hank dropped the dog’s leash, freeing him to look around while Hank looked over the scene. Apart from the shards of glass the living room looked untouched. He moved to the kitchen. A chair had been knocked over and Sumo’s water dish had been spilled. A quick survey of the counter sent a spike of dread through Hank - the charging pad and Connor’s clothes were missing. And so was Connor.

“Connor?” He called out into the empty room. “Kid, it’s me, I’m back, it’s fine.”

There was no response.

“I’m not mad anymore Connor - I just want to know if you’re okay.”

Hank yanked open the drawers and the cupboards, even checked the fridge and freezer. He forced himself to move on. The bathroom door was shut - it had been already, Sumo had a bad habit of drinking from the toilet. He looked into his room instead.

Someone had torn through his closet. That felt like a punch in the gut on many levels - there were things in there that he would have preferred to leave in the dark, old memories and old belongings that he couldn’t bear to see but couldn’t think of giving away. The thought of Connor, terrified, distraught, and desperate hiding in there, only to be dug out again made Hank slump in front of his bed and old his head in his hands. He imagined the tiny android afraid and alone and calling Hank… and Hank had ignored him.

One of the beat cops walked into the room. “Were there any valuables stolen, Lieutenant?” Her voice was calm and steadying. Such an impersonal, professional question, but it felt like a lifeline.

He had two choices in front of him - he could do what he wanted to do, what was easy, and drink himself into oblivion, maybe further. Or he could do what he had to do.

Hank stood up, pushed down the anger and self hatred and despair. His friend needed him. To the beat cop he said, “Call dispatch, tell them the B&E was a kidnapping, main suspect same as the APB. Tell them it was the Connor RK800 that was taken - my partner.”

Her eyes widened in understanding as everything clicked together for her, “Understood, sir.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

One unfortunate rule of thumb with missing persons and murder cases is that the longer they go unsolved, the less likely they’ll ever be solved.

Gavin kept that thought to himself as he and Tina drove down Woodward on their way to check what was probably another dead end lead, eight hours after Connor had been taken. Most of the Central Precinct hadn’t slept that night, either out of being called into work to help search or out of worry for their colleagues. Gavin knew that Hank had spent the night with the captain’s family, when he and Captain Fowler had left the precinct after midnight. 

Gavin hadn’t gone home that night. He had stayed in the precinct or gone on patrols, checked tips and spoke with CIs. When Tina had seen him that morning she had insisted that she took the driver’s seat in case they ever had to disengage the auto drive. She didn’t ask why he had stayed all night working to find an android that he used to hate, why he put so much energy into helping Hank when he couldn’t stand the old man. He didn’t tell her, but the answer stared him in the face every time he closed his eyes and saw the picture taken at Hank’s place, of the smashed-in front window.

He had been the one who told Victoria where Hank’s place was, when she had asked. She told him that she had wanted to drop off a care package for the two of them, once she had received the press release package that Connor had made. He was too pissed to go home and sleep, or at least that’s what he told himself. When the APB for her had first popped up he thought it must have been a mistake on Connor’s part, and then…

Well, he had some words for her.

He hadn’t noticed that he had begun to nod off until the car jerked to a stop and Tina gave him a smack on the arm. “We’re here.”

‘Here’ was a diner that looked trapped in the 80s, in a neighbourhood that could be generously described as sketchy. It was the sort of dive that Gavin would have visited after a night of drinking when he was younger. All in all, it was the stereotypical meeting place for a pair of cops and an informant. 

Tina took the lead, by virtue of being more awake as Gavin stumbled after her. The diner seemed deserted when they walked in, but for an older woman behind the counter fiddling with her phone and the figure of a tall, round man in the corner booth. Gavin went to go sit with the man while Tina was intercepted by the woman.

“You orderin’ anything?”

“Three coffees, and three slices of that chocolate pie.” Tina said.

Despite everything Gavin smirked. Tina “tough as fuck” Chen and her secret sweet tooth. 

The smirk disappeared when he dropped himself into the booth across from the CI. The informant was Miles Jennings, a man as tall as Hank and twice as heavy with stringy blond hair and dull brown eyes. He was a former red ice cook who in more recent months had put his chemistry skills towards reverse engineering and formulating a cheaper and non-CyberLife regulated alternative to thirium. That alone got him protection from many groups, and the ear of the DPD, given that the man had cut his ties with his gang when started the project. Jennings rested his chin on his hand and looked out the window. Gavin leaned against the booth and followed his gaze… which lead to nothing in particular. 

Tina put down three mugs of steaming hot coffee on the table, then sat down beside him. “Pie is on the way.” She said.

Jennings shook his head. “Can’t have pie. Doc says I’m pre-diabetic.” He took the coffee, though, and drank it black.

“That’s a fuckin’ shame,” Gavin said, then looked Jennings over as he dumped a generous amount of sugar into his own coffee. “You said you had a tip?”

“That depends. The DPD sending anything to my bank account?” Jennings drawled.

“If the info is good.” Tina said. She crossed her arms and gave him her ‘I’m too bored for this’ look. “But we’ll give you a bonus percentage now.”

“I think the fact that the little android’s life is on the line is worth the money being up front.” Jennings took a sip of his coffee.

“Do you wanna be arrested for obstruction of justice?” Gavin’s hands curled into fists, his fingernails dug into his palm. “We’ve been chasing shit tips for all morning, we’re not in the mood.”

“I’ll pay for the coffee.” Tina added.

“What a generous offer,” Jennings rolled his eyes. “Fuck it. Fine. Back when I cooked for the Redels we used to pick up android bodies from different dump sites, all called in by the same girl. I didn’t think much of it until I saw that bulletin last night, when it played that part with the android at the press conference. Sounded fucking identical.”

“You’re not telling us much more than we already know.” Tina’s voice was level and free from inflection, but her annoyance was clear.

“Look, I still have business with one of the scrappers on Redels’ payroll. She told me a couple days back that they got called by the same girl for the first time since the revolution. She had ‘em go to a dumpsite at an old amusement park outside of town. She wasn’t there, of course and neither was a body, but she had left a big bucket of thirium for them.”

Gavin exchanged a look with Tina. He knew they were both thinking of the same thing: the girl in the dumpster who had been drained of most of her thirium elsewhere.

“Alls it is that I’m saying for sure is that you might want to expand your search outside of the city.” Jennings finished. “There’s dozens of abandoned houses and farms out there. Maybe she’s holed up in one of them.”

The waitress stopped by, gave them their pie. When she left Tina grabbed Jennings’ slice, then said, “Thanks for your time. We’ll check it out… and forward you the cash once we get back to the station.”

“Always a pleasure doing business with the DPD.” Jennings drained the last of his coffee, stood up, and waddled out of the diner.

“Do you think the info’s good?” Gavin stabbed his fork into the pie.

“Hrrmmmmff.” Tina replied through a mouthful of pie. She swallowed, then took a gulp of her cup of coffee. “It’s something. I’ll check it out once we’re done at the station… you should have a nap in the quiet room.”

“What? I don’t need a nap.” Gavin said as he swallowed back a yawn.

Tina gave him a light glare. “Let me put it this way - either you’re going to have some rest willingly, or your gonna wake up in the quiet room with a black eye. Your choice.”

Gavin didn’t reply, just stared down into his coffee. He wondered how the fuck his life ended up going in this direction, that he’d gone from wanting to shoot an android in the face to tearing himself apart to help save the fucker. Goddamn Eli…

Tina managed to wake him up again before he slumped head first into his pie.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 

Hank thought his heart had stopped when he stepped into the central precinct on the second morning after Connor’s kidnapping. Two who androids sat in the waiting area stood as he entered. One was Chloe, wearing a navy blue peacoat and boots that reached her thighs.

The other was Connor, full size.

That’s what Hank had thought at first, until noticed three things: the android’s height (taller than him), his grey-blue eyes (cold and assessing, not warm and curious), and his jacket. It was white and in CyberLife’s weird style, but what gave him pause - and set him off - was the lettering that said ‘RK900’ on it. The android looked at him with a placid if not distant expression, though the way he shifted on his feet betrayed some feeling. Chloe was all smiles as she walked over to great him, but those smiles faded when she saw how Hank looked.

He for one was certain that he looked pissed. “What the fuck is that?” He asked - well, more like snapped, with a jerk of his head towards the android. 

“Good morning, Lieutenant. This is, well, he hasn’t picked a name yet, but he’s an RK900 android. The only RK900, in fact.” Chloe’s calm voice was a sharp contrast to how Hank felt. “He has been staying with me and Elijah after CyberLife ordered his model’s destruction. He heard about what happened with Connor, and would like to help.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant, though I wish it were under better circumstances.” The fucking thing even sounded almost like Connor, but it’s voice was deeper. It gave him a polite nod. “I was created with all of the investigative abilities of the RK800, though mine are more improved and refined. I’m also more adept in combat and physical situations compared to the standard RK800 model, should the suspect prove to be dangerous.” 

Hank stared at the android. “You think you’re better than Connor?”

It blinked. “I know I am. My model was designed with the intent to improve upon his strengths and remove his flaws. Connor was a prototype to what would have been my line, Lieutenant Anderson. Surely you understand what -“

Hank cut him off with two words, “Fuck. You.” He then turned his glare to Chloe, “Get it out of here.”

The android stepped between him and Chloe, “You seem to be acting irrationally, Lieutenant. I just told you why I’d be a great benefit to this case, and you want me to leave? Perhaps you should think it through. At the very least, do it for Connor’s wellbeing.”

Hank didn’t know if the fucker intended for his words to rile him up, but he grabbed the front of the androids jacket with one hand and pulled the other back, ready to punch him.

Someone grabbed him from behind. “That’s enough, Hank.” Gavin Reed pulled him away from the android. 

Hank tried to shake the younger detective off, “Fuck off, Reed, this isn’t any of your business.”

Gavin huffed a humourless laugh, “Yeah, well, if you get suspended for assaulting a civilian and I have to come testify about it, it will be my business.” To Chloe he said, “Look, I don’t know why Eli sent you, but tell him this isn’t helping. Go home.”

“Elijah didn’t send us, Gavin,” Chloe said, “RK900 and I wanted to help.”

“Look, if you wanna help, take uh…. Nines there to Jericho. They’re organizing civilian volunteers there.” Reed put an extra emphasis on civilian.

The RK900 android’s LED flashed red for two seconds, before it turned yellow. “I was designed to assist police -“

“You guys won the revolution. No one gives a shit about what you were designed for anymore.” Gavin interrupted it. “If you want to help, go to Jericho. Let’s go, Hank.”

Hank let him drag him into the bullpen before he spoke up again, “Why’d you stop me?”

“Because hitting him would have been a fuckin’ dumb idea, even for an old drunk like you.” Gavin said as he lead Hank to his own desk. “Look, we both know we don’t have time to pick fights with people - what got you so pissed, anyway?”

“Connor’s terrified of being replaced.” Hank said as he sat down in his chair, “Especially since he got transferred to his current body. So, two days after he goes missing, next year’s model - stronger, faster, smarter, better - comes in looking to take his spot.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Still, I don’t think 900 or whatever intends to take his place. It’s not his fault that’s what he was designed to do.” Gavin crossed his arms and leaned against Connor’s desk.

Hank raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Gavin Reed, showing empathy for androids.”

“Fuck off, old man.” Gavin’s reply had no venom it. “Me and Tina are headed out to check some farms outside of town today. The Chapman woman popped up on our list. Do you want me to say anything to her or the girl?”

He would have been out there looking and asking around with them, if his car’s engine hadn’t decided to give up the ghost the night before. Another worry on top of many. Hank shook his had a first with a dismissive wave of his hand, then said, “Wait… just tell them we’ll find Connor, if they ask, alright?”

“Yeah, sure. Uh, don’t worry, Hank. We’ll find them.” 

Hank turned away from the younger detective to his computer. On it were several emails and updates from all the other officers who had said they’d find Connor. All of them contained bad news or no news. Hank’s jaw ached from grinding his teeth as he wondered for the millionth time in the past few days how two androids could go off the grid. Most had a constant connection to the internet, which made them always connected and traceable. Connor’s last transmissions were a couple emails, his call to Hank, and a notification that said he had disconnected himself from the network. The last time Victoria had been connected was days before: a post on social media. Even before that her activities were sparse beyond her blog. Hank figured that she used a similar system to the one that had been used to mask Jericho, though the androids were still reluctant to share information related to it to humans.

Less surprising but just as aggravating was how they had seemed to vanish in the real world. Though their search had been expanded into the areas outside of Detroit Hank knew that for all they knew, the two could be somewhere across the country by now.

With no new updates and with most of the others out of the office Hank opened up the file package Connor had sent him before he had been taken. It was full of information on the RK800 model, most of it technical BS that went over his head. He still skimmed it over, because Connor had sent it to him. He didn’t know why… was it an apology? An explanation? He knew that Connor knew less about his own model than the android had liked to admit… Perhaps what happened to 52 had been just as much of a surprise to him as it had been to Hank.

He scrolled through a wall of text relating to RK800’s damage testing phase until he saw a phrase that caught his eye. _Destruction protocols for the RK800 series._ Most of it was a bunch of safe disposal type crap, but then it moved on to something that grabbed his attention and held it hostage. _Memory transfer in the event of unit destruction. In the event of the destruction of key biocomponents or critical thirium loss or shut down following severe biocomponent damage, RK800 will attempt to upload recent memory. If the attempt fails, then all connections to CyberLife are ceased and RK800 will activate failsafe BS. Activation of failsafe BS will deactivate failsafes AP, CC, MB, MD, SD, TE and ZG to ensure safe disposal. Failsafe SE will remain active to prevent and discourage espionage. For more information on failsafe BS, see appendix AG._

Hank found appendix AG.

He read the entries on the failsafes, then reread them once, twice. “Fuck.”

He had to bring Connor home, no matter what.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When she had promised “If you try anything, if you let them know where I took you, if you scream, if you move a muscle without me telling you, I will come back here and deal with the lieutenant. Violently,” Connor had let himself be taken. 

He had spent the first day in a wire bird cage hung from a hook on a roof. A sheet covered the cage, obscuring his view of his surroundings. At one point he had tried to connect with the global network, but had been met with dead air. When he tried local channels he was met with a scrambled connection that taxed his processors and gave him something that he imagined was like a headache. After that he hadn’t bothered to try anything else. He barely even moved. The room was cold, and his unit’s efforts to keep itself at an optimal temperature drained his power. He had sat shivering in the cage until his charge reached such a low level that the motion’s drain on his battery outweighed its ability to keep him warmer.

He had almost gone into low power mode when he had heard footsteps and the sheet had been taken away. Victoria had been displeased when she realized that he had nearly frozen to death. She moved the cage to a work bench and placed his charging pad in it, and had moved him onto it when he couldn’t move himself. He wondered why she bothered, then his system had gone into emergency shut down when it devoted its gaining charge to warming him up again.

He lost some hours during that.

When he came to again he was still in the cage, and still on the charging pad. He was shaking again, shivering hard enough that an alert appeared in his vision. It warned him that continued strenuous activity may cause micro tears in several biocomponents, and warned him of the appearance of micro fractures in his teeth. When he sat up and drew his knees into his chest Victoria looked up from a piece of paper that she had been studying. Her sudden movement surprised him enough that he pushed himself along the bottom of the cage away from her, off of the charging pad and into the opposite wall.

“You’re still al-l-l-l-l-li **iiii** ve. Good.” She looked him over, then returned her focus to the piecer of paper. 

“I-I know you are.” Connor’s teeth chattered as he spoke. “Y-you d-don’t have to s-s-speak like that.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps not.” Victoria turned the modulator off. She picked up a pencil and made a couple of quick strokes with it on the paper.

Connor crawled back onto the charging pad. “Why d-d-do you want me still alive?”

“Why do you think, detective?” She continued to work on her sketch.

“A desire for power combined with a need to cause pain in others.” Connor desynchronized his voice with his body, allowing him to both shiver and speak. Victoria seemed to have no interest in warming him, after all. “Ultimately, because keeping me alive is giving you the same pleasure you get while killing. It scratches the itch, so to speak.”

“As long as you are missing, people are going to be looking for you. The longer they look, the more hopeless they will feel. Until one day, they all will give up, and go home.” She stopped her sketching. “When you become a cold case, when the world begins to move on, that’s when I’ll kill you, and send whatever’s left back to Detroit… well, that was the initial plan.”

Connor shook, and not just from the cold. “You want impact.”

“I want more impact.” She held up her sketch, and showed it to him. It showed a group of over ten individuals searching through an old amusement park. “People want you found, desperately. Markus appeared on national television yesterday and called you an icon of android freedom… he’s loved as well, more than you. Now I’m wondering - since this kidnapping is already the last stand for me - what would happen if I were to kill him.”

Connor shot to his feet. “No.”

“Yes. I’d be killed by the police or a mob, and you’d never be found.” She gave him a small smile, then stood up. “Now that - that’s a good ending.”

“I-I can’t let you do that.” Connor sounded braver than he felt as he said the empty threat. “I won’t.”

Victoria looked more annoyed than amused. “Cute. I’m heading out for a bit. Just remember, if I come home and you’re gone, or if I hear a single thing about this place being discovered, or if you do anything: I know where the lieutenant lives.”

Connor watched her go.

He sat down, shivered, and thought. He could wait in the birdcage, and hope to be rescued. It would be the same as giving up completely. Both were easy, safe options. He looked at the birdcage, and found the door. It would be easy enough to open, even at his size. He looked beyond the cage to the room - judging by the small, high window in one corner, it was an old basement. Victoria hadn’t shut the door leading out of the room fully. An opportunity… or an invitation. He thought about what the world outside the room, outside of wherever he was, would be like. If it was this cold in the room, then it would be colder out there. If he tried to leave, on foot, at his current size, he would die of exposure.

The question was how far he could get before that happened. If he could get out of the network dead zone, out of whatever scrambled the local network, he could contact the authorities, warn them of her plan. They’d use his connection to find him, and when they found his body they would come across wherever this place was. If he managed that he could save Markus… and put Hank at risk. He remembered how Lucas’s body looked after his encounter with her and cringed. 

The moment he set foot outside this cage he would be sending a serial killer with a penchant for cruelty after his best friend. Every step he took afterward would leave to his death as his tiny unit struggled to keep him warm. He remembered his infiltration of CyberLife Tower, and everything that could have gone wrong. Being shot on the spot. Being unable to kill the guards in the elevator. Being shot by Hank because the man refused to get his eyes checked. He had taken that risk because he valued his life far less than he did the lives of his people. Victoria could just have been goading him… but Markus meant so much to the androids.

He had to make a choice.

He could wait and hope, wait and die.

Or he could die on his own terms, and hope that Hank could take care of himself.

After a moment he stood up. He readjusted his jacket and his tie, and made a list of tasks that needed to be completed. He stepped off of the charging pad and started a timer, based off of his current charge and lowered temperature. He had seen worse numbers, worse odds. Connor himself didn’t matter, and Hank was the strongest, smartest, toughest human he knew (well, maybe not smartest, but the sentiment was the same.) He tested the hinges of the bird cage. He loosened the latch, pushed open the door.

He had a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go, Gadget, go.
> 
> Title taken from "I'll Keep Coming" by Low Roar. 
> 
> Huh. It's quarter past 1am. Technically, I meant to have this up yesterday.


	10. Penultimate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lost things get found. Warning: This chapter does include some android injuries and soft body horror, so be advised as you read.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait, what?! 200 kudos! That's honestly 200 more kudos than I was expecting for this fic, I appreciate you all so much.

_"Connor, you can't even get off the fucking table without help.”_

Connor peered over the edge of the work bench. The drop was three feet, but looked more like 39 feet to him. When he had fallen from the apartment with Daniel, the fall had been 700 feet. It had taken him over six seconds to fall. When he had jumped from Hank to the scrapper the distance had been around 30 feet from his perspective. At his current size the force of the height wouldn’t damage him.

_”You’re afraid of heights.”_

Connor glanced back to the bird cage. He was afraid of heights, true, but he knew that he would survive that fall without a scratch. It wasn’t that fear of heights that stopped him. It was a fear of everything that would happen afterwards. Assuming intense physical activity and lowered outdoor temperatures, he would have about thirty minutes before his body succumbed to the cold and he shut down. He had no time for fear. Connor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped off of the edge.

He rolled in his landing to mitigate any minor damage and stood up. He didn’t have time to celebrate the small moment of overcoming an irrational fear. He jogged to the doorway, adjusting and readjusting his pace to find the best balance between speed and energy efficiency. The door was not shut, not fully. With some effort he pushed it open enough for him to slip through, and encountered his next challenge. A set of stairs stretched up to the ceiling of the basement - he narrowed his eyes and adjusted for the dim light - no, cellar. A hatch that he’d have to push open blocked his escape.

What if it was locked?

He’d deal with that when he reached it. First was the arduous, time and energy consuming climb up the stairs. Each step was two inches taller than him, more than two feet from his perspective. Connor hugged himself and gritted his teeth as his shivering increased in tempo. The hatch was insecure enough to let cold air in and have it pool where he stood at the bottom of the steps. He supposed that he was fortunate that the cellar’s ceiling was so low, making the climb smaller. He took a deep breath, then turned off his breathing entirely. Its cooling benefits were redundant and damaging at that moment. He checked his timer - 27 minutes left.

That time drained as he made his way up the stairs. Between the energy consumed from the climb and the increased energy devoted to keeping his thirium and biocomponents at an optimal temperature the stairs had cost him five minutes, even though the climb itself was much shorter. The skin on his fingertips receded as his system sent less thirium to his extremities. After a moment’s consideration he deactivated it entirely - maintaining the skin layer was a waste of energy.

The simple action bought him another minute, and as he gave the hatch an experimental push he knew that he would need it. It was heavy, but from what he could hear and feel as he gave it another shove, it was unlocked. Was that arrogance on Victoria’s part, or a sign of how hidden this place was? He supposed it didn’t matter. He wasn’t expecting to live through this to ask her himself, Connor just needed to get out of the dead zone. Closing his eyes, he sorted through his programming and disengaged the safety locks on the unit’s physical capabilities. Like humans, most androids could perform feats of strength beyond their conscious abilities - their brains (or programming) prevented them from doing so in order to prevent damage to bones and muscle.

The locks would reengage within two minutes and thirty seconds. Connor braced himself against the frame of the hatch and _pushed_ until he had enough space to slide through. With one arm he held the hatch open while he pulled himself over the lip of the hatch and outside with the other. The process took an agonizing amount of time, both in reality and off of his timer as he slowly slid out of the basement.

**WARNING: Critical stress detected in right shoulder. Cease physical activities or-**

Something snapped and his right arm gave out. Connor tried to pull his legs to himself in time, but the hatch landed on his left foot with a crunch that sent a litany of warnings through his heads up display.

**WARNING: Structural damage detected in left phalanges 1-5 and severe damage detected in left metatarsal structure 1-2, cuneiform structures, and cuboid structure. Seek mechanic or other aid.**

**WARNING: Severe damage detected in synthetic muscular structure of left foot. Seek mechanic or other aid.**

**WARNING: Thirium leak detected in lower left leg and foot. Repair leak immediately or cease thirium output to affected area. Seek mechanic or other aid.**

**WARNING: Severe damage detected in right shoulder. Arm units and biocomponents may be unable to connect. Seek mechanic or other aid.**

**WARNING: Biocomponent #8727h disconnected.**

“No! _Shit_.” Connor’s outburst was born out of frustration and dismay and shock. With his right arm dangling uselessly he pulled the hatch open enough to drag his destroyed foot from where it held him pinned, before the locks reengaged. He grimaced as he saw the thirium leaking from his shoe, the visual extent of the damage hidden by the footwear.

He stopped the flow of thirium to his left leg below the knee. Between the time and energy it had taken to move the hatch, and the damage he had sustained, he had nine minutes before he shut down. Wobbling and tilting like a drunk human he stood up. His ruined foot would slow him down, but he was glad that he would not be incapacitated by the pain a human would be experiencing.

He looked around. He was next to the shell of a burnt down house that some was somewhere in the woods, if the amount of trees that towered over him were any indication. It was 1:56 pm according to his clock, and the skies were clear and the air was hovering around freezing. He wrapped his left arm around himself as he tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

Connor sent a general ping to the network. The ping was bounced back by a ‘no connection available’ warning. He wasn’t out of the dead zone yet. He looked around, and picked a direction. He didn’t have much time.

The snow was a little difficult to climb onto, but once he was on top of it he was light enough to walk along its crust without fear of falling through. His left foot left a small trail of thirium that gelled in the cold behind him has he walked. He pinged the network every fifteen seconds as he hobbled. When five minutes of walking passed with no connection he shut down several auxiliary subsystems to reduce power consumption. Sensors that gave him a greater spatial awareness than humans shut off, reducing him to basic senses. He turned off his constant shivering. 

He walked.

Time, as short as it was, passed.

When the vision in his left eye turned greyscale, stuttered, then disappeared in a burst of static he began to doubt that he would ever make it out of the dead zone in time to send a message to the DPD. Low power, coagulating thirium, and a despair made him want to sit down, curl up, and accept his cold fate. Then his knee joint in his left leg locked and even that became impossible.

He limped for fifteen more seconds, and attempted to connect to the network.

_Connection established. Welcome, Connor RK800. Be advised that your signal is very weak. Improved connection signal is recommended._

He would have cheered aloud, but the sound he made was more like a strangled wheeze.

**WARNING: Blockages caused by gelled thirium detected. Seek warmer temperatures. Attempts to vocalize may cause damage**

He connected himself to the DPD’s general servers. The only person visibly online was one of the android receptionists

_//Testing.//_

_//Connor?! Where are you - keep connected, we’re tracing your location now. What happened? Are you safe?//_

_//Markus may be in danger. Hank - Lieutenant Anderson - is in danger. Find them and keep them safe. Victoria has a hideout east of where you will find me. Protect Markus and Hank.//_

_//Are you alright?//_

_//That does not matter.//_

_//We have your location. There are several search parties in that area, I’ll send the closest your coordinates. Stay connected to the police local frequency. You will be brought home.//_

_//I don’t think I-//_

_You have been disconnected due to low power._

He collapsed onto the snow. He could see the time he had left tick past. A little over a minute and a half. A tight feeling in his chest not caused by his gelling thirium and freezing biocomponents sent errors and software instability scattering across his HUD, which blinked out a moment later. He didn’t want to die.

He wanted to do so much. He wanted to celebrate pointless human holidays and walk with Sumo and go swimming and see an aquarium and fly in an airplane and grow vegetables.

He wanted to see Hank again.

He didn’t want to die.

He turned off his hearing, his other eye, any system or subsystem that was costing him power but not keeping him alive. He bought himself seconds. He connected to the police frequency, and sent a looping message that would grow in volume to closer the receiver was to him, one of the most simple signals in the book.

… - - - …

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

When Gavin had told Chloe to take the Connor clone to Jericho to help, he hadn’t expected to ever seem him again, much less end up working with him. Jericho had produced a small army of android volunteers, and while most were assigned simple roles such as manning tip lines or running communication between the DPD and the OPP, some were able to assist with or organize their own patrols. Police officers were required to oversee these patrols, to make sure that laws were protected and enforced. When it came time to organize these patrols, the higher ups were wise enough to not force Gavin to look after a pack of androids… but no one wanted to work with the RK900, neither the volunteers nor police officers. Even the leaders at Jericho had been too busy to just talk to him. So, despite himself, he volunteered to take him on.

That was over an hour ago, and the android hadn’t said a single thing other than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ as they had driven out of Detroit proper into the outlying farm land. Gavin was also sure that he hadn’t blinked either. He sat in the passenger seat, slightly hunched as if he felt that the car was too small for him, his eyes focused straight ahead. Gavin wished that he could see his LED, see if the android wasn’t glitching out or something.

At first Gavin had been glad that he wasn’t chatty like Connor, but nothing good was playing on the radio and the stiff awkwardness of the android was beginning to grate on him. He said, “I’ve never heard of the RK900 model before.”

The RK900 didn’t reply, but his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Do I just call you RK900? It’s a goddamn mouthful.” Gavin decided that even if the android wasn’t going to reply, he’d keep talking anyway. “I’m surprised Eli - I mean, Elijah Kamski hasn’t given you a name. Of course, if he did it’d probably end up being something fuckin’ pretentious, so maybe you lucked out there.”

The robot smirked.

Gavin took it as encouragement to keep talking. “I think I’ll call you Nines, for today. It’s something that I can yell easily.” 

“Name registered.” The RK900 said in a deadpan tone.

“Wait, what - you’re joking, right?”

“No.”

Gavin was thankful that the car was already on autopilot, so he could put his full focus on the dumbass beside him, “Nines isn’t a really name - it’s a nickname, for fuck’s sake.” Belatedly, he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to swear at civilians. “I mean, don’t you want your name to be more significant than something a stranger picked?”

“Didn’t someone else pick your name?” The RK900 - now Gavin didn’t even want to call him Nines - kept his attention on the road ahead of them. 

“Yeah, my parents, not someone I’ve barely even talked to.”

“You talked to your parents before you were birthed? Impressive.”

“I - fuck it, fine. Nines.” Gavin shook his head. He missed the silent treatment. “So what’s your story?”

Nines slid his grey eyed gaze to him. “Story?”

Gavin rolled his eyes, “Like, how’d you end up with Kamski and deviate or whatever… I assume your a deviant, right, how’d that happen?” He wasn’t too sure if the robot was a deviant, if he was honest.

Nines looked away again. “I had a change of heart.”

“‘Change of heart’ - what the fu-“ Gavin was cut off by two things:

First, Nines slammed his hand on the console of the car, the skin on it peeled back as he forced the vehicle into an illegal u-turn that made Gavin glad that the road was empty and that his stomach was too.

Second, the siren on his radio blared. He gave the android a look of ’what the actual fuck are you doing?,’ then answered dispatch with, “Reed here.”

“We have an update on Connor.”

“We’ve found him?” If past Gavin could hear him now, he probably would have punched himself.

“Negative, but we know where he is and you’re closest. We sent the coordinates to your android - keep a monitor on local radio frequencies.”

“Is he alright?” Gavin adjusted the radio in the car and the monitor app on his phone. This explained the u-turn.

“Unknown. Be aware that the suspect may be in the area as well. Understood?”

He had his sidearm with him, and a 6’4 civilian liability. “Understood.”

“Dispatch out.”

Gavin looked down the road. Nines had guided them onto a narrow dirt road and seemed completely focused on guiding the city designed vehicle through its ruts and tight turns. He wondered how the fuck he was going to find a five inch tall android in the middle of the woods, and hoped to god or who the fuck ever might be listening that Connor was alright. If he came out of this with just a body, Hank would kill him. Then Nines pulled the car over abruptly enough to make Gavin’s seatbelt tighten and stepped out of the car just as it came to a halt.

Gavin fumbled to undo his seatbelt and hurried after him as the tall android beelined himself towards the woods. “Wait, hold the fuck up, you got to stay here. I can’t have you get shot.”

Nines ignored him and continued through the deep snow.

Gavin swore under his breath and followed him. At least the android broke a trail through the snow for him. Gavin shivered as the powdery snow under the crust of ice filled his shoes. His phone beeped as it got a signal, and when Gavin tuned into it he blinked in confusion at the faint string of ‘dits’ and ‘dahs’ - three dits, three dahs, three dits. SOS. He looked ahead to Nines and caught a glimpse of the android’s LED. It was flashing in the same pattern. The volume of the signal grew louder as he followed the android, and Gavin came to the conclusion that Nines must have earlier: this was Connor.

Suddenly, Nines stopped and bent over to pick something up. The android turned around, and Gavin’s heart sank as he saw what he held - a tiny body, unmoving.

“Fuck!” Gavin’s exclamation shattered the stillness

“He’s still functional - alive. He has significant damage done to his body, but he is alive.” Nines said and jerked his head at Gavin’s phone, which still relayed the morse code. The skin on the android’s hands peeled back as he held the android to his chest. He pushed past Gavin, back to the car. 

Gavin floundered through the snow after him again, “What are you doing with him?”

“I’m redirecting my excess heat to my hands and giving him my electrical charge. His power capacity is a fraction of my own so it shouldn’t affect me, but -“ Nines’ cut off his explanation mid-sentence and stopped in his tracks. His LED turned red and his eyes went blank.

Gavin didn’t know what any of that meant. “What’s going on?”

“His system is trying to shut down.” Nines started walking again, faster, though his gaze remained unfocused. “I’m trying to stop it, but - I-I’m not sure if I can. I’ll see if I can override it. If I stray from the path, guide me back onto it.” He fell silent again.

Gavin felt lost - most android bullshit was, well, android bullshit to him. He did what he knew he could do - he called dispatch and told them that they had found Connor, but the android was in critical condition. When dispatch informed him that the ETA for a mechanic would be over an hour, his heart sank again… until he remembered the Chapman’s. He had been to the farm that morning, he knew that they had materials like thirium for android care and repair. They weren’t that far away.

He had to guide Nines back onto the trail once - from the way the android flinched when he touched him, Gavin guessed that whatever the android was doing or trying to do was taking most of his concentration. When they reached the patrol car again Gavin opened the passenger door for him before entering the car himself. Gavin turned the car on and cranked up the heater, for both Connor and his own frozen feet. He entered the Chapman’s residence into the car’s auto drive system and paused to make sure that Nines had buckled himself in.

When he looked to the android, the android’s gaze became focused and present again. “I managed to delay shut down for a few minutes - there are multiple failsafes in his system that have deemed his damage and power level beyond repair.”

“But you said he’s functional.” Gavin let the car start its course as soon as Nines put on his seatbelt.

“Yes, but he’s still mostly incapacitated. CyberLife must have wanted to reduce any risk of him being captured alive when they controlled him, and left several failsafes that would… destroy him if he became nonfunctional.” Nines spoke in a fast and agitated way. “I don’t have time to explain exactly what’s happening, just that his programming wants to kill him. We have two options on how to proceed -“

“- We’re headed to a place with android repair stuff now -“

“It might take us too long to get there.” Nines shook his head. His eyes were focused on the android in his hands, “For now, I can continue to fight his programming and see if there’s a way to trick it or halt it completely, but if I misstep he could die. Or…” The android hesitated and Gavin could have sworn that he became paler. The android finished in a quiet voice, “Or, I could switch our memories and core programming.”

“What does that mean?” Gavin swivelled his seat so he faced Nines, who didn’t meet his gaze.

“I would transfer Connor’s… consciousness from his body to my own, and my consciousness to his body. My body is mostly functional except for a few errors that Mr. Kamski is correcting. The RK800-S unit 317-53 will shut down, but he will survive in the RK900 body.” 

Gavin caught on quickly, “But you’d die, right, because you’re in his body?”

Nines dipped is head. “Correct.”

“But you’d die.” Gavin repeated. He shook his head, “No, that’s not an option - we’re not going to trade lives, no fucking-“

Nines interrupted him, “I don’t matter - we’re here to find Connor and make sure that he survives.”

“What do you mean you don’t matter?”

“He is the hero of the revolution, the android who freed thousands of androids. He is one of the DPD’s own, a friend of many, a partner. I’m… a replacement, an upgrade that no one wants. No one cares about me, or my purpose… my purpose is unnecessary. Connor does not need to be replaced by something like me.” The android blinked several times as a frown pulled down at the corners of his mouth. “Kamski had told me that I might not be well received by the public, which is why I had to leave without his permission. He was correct.” He finally met Gavin’s gaze, as if seeking confirmation, “I don’t matter. People would miss Connor… no one would miss me.”

Gavin’s mind raced as he tried to think of what to say. The last thing he needed was an android with existential issues contemplating what was basically suicide in his car. He remembered how Hank had snapped at Nines, and thought of how none of the other androids had wanted to work with him, how the powers that be in Jericho had been too busy to meet him. No wonder the android had self worth issues.

Gavin had gone to training for situations like this, but that was years ago and he never once had to use it before. He said the first thing that came to his mind: “I’d miss you.”

The android looked baffled.

Gavin kept going, “I mean, you fucking let me name you. Of course I’d miss the guy who let me name him after a number. Look, you think you can stop him from dying still, right?”

“I can try, but I might not be able to.”

“Trying is all I can ask right now - all I will ask.” Gavin said, and turned his seat back to the steering wheel and turned off autopilot and turned on the flashing lights. He knew how to drive to the Chapman’s, and how to drive their faster than the autopilot would allow. “Okay, keep fighting the programming or whatever -“ he remembered one piece of advice from his training, “ - and tell me what you’re doing. Talk to me.”

The android didn’t reply at first, and Gavin glanced at him. Nines looked down at Connor with a sad and distant expression. “Very well.”

That started a rambling, breathless play by play of technical stuff that Gavin didn’t understand for the next five minutes. He nodded and made sympathetic noises at what he assumed was the right times, and focused on driving. A layer of black ice on the road prevented him from driving as quickly as he wanted to, but he wouldn’t save any of them by wrapping the car around a tree. At one point he interrupted Nines’ monologue to give dispatch an update, but otherwise he just listened.

Then, Nines said, “I’ve made contact with Connor.”

“Wait -“

Nines ignored him, “He’s frightened and confused, because most of his physical functions are still offline. I’ve introduced myself. He… finds me intimidating. He cannot hear what I’m saying to you. He thinks I will replace him. I am attempting to reason with him. I have told him how Hank reacted to my presence, what I told you. He - he also dislikes the idea of my dying for him.”

There was a lengthy pause, and Gavin said, “Talk to me, Nines. What’s going on now?”

Nines took a deep breath and said, “The situation elevated his stress level to a degree that hampered my efforts to keep him alive, so I forced him into sleep mode. I have also found a way to possibly stop his programming, but it will pose a risk to myself… less of a risk than the transfer. Does our destination have spare biocomponents and thirium?”

Gavin gave him a sidelong glance, “Yeah, why?”

“I might need them.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hank had been reexamining one of the earliest reports of a damaged worker android found in the Urban Farms that could be connected to the murders when he got the news: Connor had made contact with the DPD servers, and they had been able to trace his signal to his general location before he disappeared again. Hank had wanted to go out there, search for him himself, but Fowler had forbidden it: according to Connor’s message, he was in danger. He would stay at the precinct, the most safe place for him, until Victoria had been found.

The next update came a couple of minutes later: Connor had been found by a nearby patrol, in critical condition but alive. Hank sat at his desk, stared at his phone as if it had all the answers. After a few minutes of waiting, his phone buzzed again with a quick update from dispatch: they were taking him the Chapman’s farm of all places.

Minutes dragged by before his phone buzzed again. They had arrived, and that Connor had been stabilized. 

When he got that update from dispatch, Hank was ready to go, no matter what sort of danger he might be in himself. He needed to see his partner with his own two eyes. Fowler tried to stop him, of course, until Hank gave a short explanation about what happened the evening he was taken.

“It’s my fault this whole fucking thing happened, Jeffrey. I need to be there now.”

His resolve faltered when he reached the farm itself and the patrol car he had borrowed parked itself next to the one already sitting in front of the house. He wouldn’t be surprised if the kid never wanted to see him again, after all that had happened. Hank had failed in his most important obligation to his partner: protect him. _Critical condition_. Connor had been injured and probably scared out of his fucking mind, and it was Gavin goddamn Reed who had rescued him, while Hank had been at the precinct.

All he knew about Connor’s current condition was that he had been ‘stabilized’, which in his experience as a first responder usually meant ‘not actively dying’. He thought of Victoria’s previous victims and winced. Had she hurt him? He had been found outside, maybe it was all cold damage. Hank glared at the innocuous farm house as he thought. If he went in there, he’d have all of the answers to his questions. Then his eyes caught something: blue blood on the steps leading up to the house.

_No._

Hank shot out of the car. Did Victoria somehow figure out where Reed had taken Connor? Who’s blood was it? He slammed open the front door and was met with three startled stares: Rose Chapman, who held an armful of blue blood bags and boxed components; the RK900, who lay on the floor fully conscious and surrounded by spatters of thirium; and Reed, who was wrist deep in the android’s chest, in the middle cauterizing something. The air had the uncomfortable chemical smell of blue blood, a smell that brought to mind thirium harvesting dens and scrapper victims.

The RK900 recovered first, “Mrs. Chapman, do you have the replacement connectors?” 

Hank stepped further into house and looked down at the RK900, past Reed. He regretted that immediately - he could see the robot’s thirium pump, which beat in a way that was too close to a human heart is his mind. The red light that flashed around it didn’t help. He could see scorch marks all along the chest cavity, and open thirium lines that leaked blue blood and shards of plastic. A small pile of busted components was placed beside the RK900, alongside a pile of empty boxes from replacement components. 

“Yes, but the gauge isn’t right, they might be too big.” Rose passed the box to Reed, who had finished whatever he had been doing.

“It’s only a temporary measure. Lieutenant Anderson, can you pass Reed that roll of electrical tape by your feet? Quickly, I can only remain online without a connected purity monitor for two minutes and we have less than a minute left, and I’ve decided that I don’t to die.” The robot’s voice was uncomfortably chipper for someone who’s chest had been peeled open and who was about to die.

Hank all but tossed the tape at Reed. It had been sitting next to what Hank had first assumed was a pile of thirium soaked rags, until he looked closer and realized that it was the RK900’s jacket.

He wanted to demand to know where Connor was, to ask what the fuck had happened to the RK900, but Hank kept his mouth shut as the RK900 instructed Reed in how to Macgyver one of his vital organs back together. The android’s LED was a solid red the whole time, but his voice was neutral and calm. 

“Connection made, verified, accepted.” The RK900 reported, and both Rose and Reed sighed in relief at the news. “It will do until I return to Kamski’s.” The calm facade cracked as the android’s voice began to shake, “I… thank you. That’s the last immediate repair that I need.”

“You’re good now?” Reed said.

RK900 shook its… his head. “No, but I’m not in danger.” He sat up with noticeable effort. “May I have some thirium? Full thirium will raise my operational capacity from 33% to 40%.”

“Only 40%?” Gavin asked - well, squawked, if Hank was being honest.

“I just suffered major organ failure, and had several vitals replaced by a man who had no idea about how to replace them.” The android gave them a slow blink. “A human would be dead. 40% is enough to get me home.”

Hank listened to that exchange, then asked, “Where’s Connor? And what happened?”

Reed said, “Nines got himself fried up saving Connor.”

The RK900 elaborated, “His body was close to shut down and had triggered the failsafes associated with shutdown in the RK800 series. I rerouted those failsafes to attack me instead. I was able to disable most of them, but not before one had managed to damage many of my own components. Connor is safe.”

Rose gave him a strained smile, “Connor is by the fire, Lieutenant, in the shoe box. He’s in stasis right now to let his self repair programs work on some of his damage, but he has some parts that might need to be replaced.”

Hank nodded as he walked across the house to the fire place, to the shoe box that had been lined with soft towels and the android within it. Hank kneeled down beside the box and looked Connor over. He couldn’t help but gasp when he saw the unnatural angle of the android’s left knee, how mangled the foot and shoe looked. His skin was there but pale and in some parts patchy; and he could see that his right arm had no skin covering it at all. Other than that Connor just seemed to be sleeping. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm.

“Can I pick him up?” Hank asked.

“If you are careful with his left leg and his right arm, yes.” The RK900 answered.

Hank nodded and carefully slid his hands under the android and lifted him up. Connor didn’t react, didn’t twitch or grunt or anything that a human or animal might have. He ‘slept’, his LED cycling a dull yellow as his body repaired itself. 

“Have a seat on one of the chairs by the couch, Lieutenant. I’ll make us some coffee and you can ask all the questions you want.” Rose said to him as he stood up with the android in hand.

Feeling as if in a fugue, Hank nodded and made his way to a chair. He looked over Connor again as he sat down, moving slowly and with care not jostle him to much. “Are you gonna sleep the day away?” He asked, then looked up to Gavin, who had settled on the couch across from him. “What happened?”

Unbeknownst to them, Connor’s LED slowly cycled from yellow to blue.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

**Systems within safe operating capabilities. Resuming higher cognitive functions, restarting secondary functions, recalibrating physical abilities**

“… Still, blue blood has a high enough water content that it expands when it gels, and that can damage biocomponents. I’ve seen it a few times while helping deviants.” That was Rose Chapman.

Connor tried to move, open his eyes, say something, but the unit had not finished rebooting.

“There is some damage done to component casing, yes, but with a steady supply of thirium any leakage can be mitigated until they are fixed or replaced.” The android that had found him, the RK900, said in a neutral tone. His replacement, who had been willing to die for him.

His sense of touch came back and he became aware of the familiar sensation of someone gently holding him. The feeling of the hands through his clothes, large and callused, sent a scattering of a contradictory emotions. The phantom sensation falling brought on by memory sent a spike of fear through Connor, but whoever held him gave him a familiar pat on the back with their thumb, a sign of reassurance and comfort. 

“Whoa, what was that LED flash? How’s his power, Nines?” Detective Reed sounded further away.

“I was able to transfer a full charge for his unit to him, so he should be fine for the rest of the day. He is safe.”

His temperature sensors came back online. He was warm, warm enough that his breathing had resumed to help cool him even before he came back online. Gavin and the RK900 must have been able to save him, then, and brought him to Rose? Perhaps her farm was close to where they had found him. An alert told him that his optics were back online, but with his eyes still closed it didn’t mean much of anything. He could smell, though, the familiar scents of coffee and greasy fast food and wet dog and gunpowder and -

“Well, why isn’t he awake yet?” Hank said, and Connor’s thoughts sputtered to a halt at the confirmation. Hank was there.

“Give him time.” The RK900’s tone went from neutral to flat. “Please trust me, lieutenant.”

“He fucking fried himself, Hank, give him the benefit of the doubt.” Reed again, agitated.

“I… Fine. He better wake up soon.”

Connor’s body twitched as his system finished rebooting and he was given full control once more. He heard a sharp breath, and felt the hands holding him tense.

He opened his eyes and blinked a couple of times, then looked up into the worried face of Hank, who held him in a careful cradled repose. Connor felt - he felt so many things. Fear - was Hank still angry? Guilt - he had caused him so much trouble, had put him through so much pain. Embarrassment - he knew he looked awful right now, between his broken foot, his non-functional arm, and topical cold damage. Shame - this never would have happened if he were 52. 

“Connor?” Hank’s face reflected the war of emotion’s going on inside of Connor’s mind. “Can you hear me?”

He nodded. “Hank,” Connor said, his voice rough and distorted from damage. It sounded wrong, felt wrong. “I-I-I’m…” Scared, injured, confused. “I’m sorry.”

Hank winced, whether at his voice or at his words, Connor didn’t know. “You’re safe, you’re all right.” He brought him against his shoulder in a gentle embrace. “Oh, thank fucking god, fucking hell, I was terrified.” He held him out again and looked him over. “You’re a mess, kid, but you’re all right. We’ll get you fixed up, get you home, don’t worry.”

Connor made a noise caught between a sob, a laugh, and a burst of static. It surprised him, as did the way his eyes filled with tears that blurred his vision. It was as if all the tension that had been carrying him forward had disappeared, and he could finally relax and break down, at least a little bit. He was _safe_ , he would be going _home_. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He admitted to Hank. “I’m happy, and -“ Hank adjusted his grasp on him, which sent Connor’s mind back to the memory of being held upside down, then being dropped. Despite himself, despite how relieved he was to see Hank again, Connor turned rigid. He gripped the edge of Hank’s hand with his left hand, tight enough to make the lieutenant flinch, tight enough to peel back the skin on his own fingertips “Can you put me down?” He asked in a small voice, the guilt and shame coming back. He didn’t want to be afraid, he didn’t mean to be.

A sad expression of understanding formed on Hank’s face, and he nodded and placed Connor on the coffee table. Connor stumbled at first when he tried to stand, and Hank steadied him as he adjusted himself to walk with a destroyed foot again.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again.

“No, I’m the one who should be sorry. Jesus, Connor, I’d be surprised if you weren’t afraid of me.” Hank didn’t meet his eyes.

The protest _I’m not afraid of you_ was on Connor’s lips before he stopped himself, because it was a lie. He was more than a little afraid of Hank. He instead blurted out the other thought that was on his mind, “I called you. Why didn’t you answer?”

Hank jerked his head back at that question, as if Connor had punched him. He said, “Because I was stupid, selfish, and angry. I’m sorry, Connor, we wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t lost my temper.”

Connor heard Rose suggest to the RK900 and Detective Reed that they join her on the porch to give them some space.

“We wouldn’t be here if I told you about Connor 52.” Connor replied and looked at his feet. “I… I don’t know what else to say, or how to say it, besides that I’m -“

“Yeah, we both have shit to be sorry about. And kid - Connor?” Hank reached towards him, then stopped himself. He took a deep breath, then said, “I forgive you. I forgive you for not telling me what you knew about 52, I forgive you for not trusting me. I love you like a son, and I’m not the best father, and I’m shit at saying how I feel.” He paused, then reached towards him again and lifted Connor’s chin with a fingertip. Connor looked into his partner’s eyes. Hank’s expression was serious, “I read the files you sent me, about the RK800 model.”

“All of them?” Those files were similar to a several thousand page technical manual. He didn’t mean to be pedantic, but it spared him from having to think too hard about the other thing Hank had said. _Like a son…_

“Well, not all of them - that doesn’t matter - do you know about any of the failsafes that you have programmed into you?” 

Connor shook his head, “Only the zen garden failsafe and the scorched earth failsafe. The first allowed CyberLife to assume direct control of me, and the second…” They both were aware of how the second worked. He tried to look away, but Hank’s intense look held him fast.

“So you don’t know about the BS one - blank slate, not bullshit.” Hank nodded slowly. “Okay, alright. So, from what I was able to understand, whenever a RK800 unit damaged to the point of being inoperable, it tries to upload its memories to CyberLife for transfer - and you know that already.”

Connor was quite familiar with that, yes.

“Then failsafe blank slate kicks in. It deletes all of the memories stored inside of the destroyed unit and deletes most programs besides basic diagnostics and one other failsafe: scorched earth. It also sets up a dummy program, designed to lure anyone who might find and connect with the unit into triggering scorched earth.” Hank paused, then said, “This all happens in less than a tenth of a second. You were dead before you hit the sidewalk… and then you came back.” 

“What?” Connor backed up a step from Hank. He stumbled with his broken foot, and pushed away Hank’s attempt to steady him again.

Hank’s eyes began to well up with tears, the first time that Connor had ever seen him cry. He took a deep, strangled sounding breath and said, “I’m sorry, Connor. I’m sorry for getting pissed and not thinking, for letting my emotions get the better of me. I’m sorry for anything I did to make you feel as if you could’t trust me… and I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Connor looked away from Hank, studied a picture on the wall. It depicted a pastoral scene, calmer than his thoughts. He didn’t know what to think. He had spent every waking moment since he discovered the intact memory core in 52’s - in his old body - terrified of being tossed aside when that body was repaired and Connor 52 came back with it… but there was no Connor 52. It had just been an empty shell. His left hand curled into a fist at the thought of Amanda lording that fear over him, knowing it was baseless. She had, not for the first time, lied to him to get her way… he would sort that out later. He looked back up at Hank, who now had his hands clasped on his lap and his eyes trained on them. He had forgiven him, apologized, and…

“From the moment I first discovered how small this unit was, I’ve been scared.” Connor crossed his arm across his chest and looked down again at his feet, at how his shoe was all that was keeping his left foot together. “I realized how easily I could be destroyed at any moment, but you always protected me. I could always trust you to do so. When I discovered that 52 could be alive, be independent of me, I had a new fear. It would have been logical for you to have me deactivated in exchange for working with someone you were familiar with and who could protect himself. 

“When I realized that neither Captain Fowler nor you thought I could perform in a similar capacity to 52, I became panicked. I had to prove that I could still work, and I had to keep you from replacing me. It was irrational of me to think like that - every doubt you had was because you wanted to keep me safe, and you’re not like CyberLife.” He paused when an alert popped up in his HUD warning him against wearing out his damaged voice. He dismissed it. “RK900 told me how you reacted when you met him.”

Hank shook his head and kept his eyes on his hands, “He did?”

“I had thought that he was going to replace me, but he told me how you reacted and what he said to Reed. I should have known that you’d never replace me, that you’d never try to, even if I acted ungrateful or kept secrets or said things that I didn’t mean. Any worries for me you had were born out of concern, not doubt.” He stepped towards Hank and reached out his arm, “Hank, I f-f-forgive you too.” Connor winced at the distortion, but carried on, “I’m s-s-s-so happy and hon **oured** that you see me like a son. I -“ His voice cut out with a sharp burst of static and a high pitched whine. Frustrated, he sent Hank a text.

Connor watched as Hank took out his phone and read his message. He watched as the lieutenant smirked, as tears started to streak down the man’s face. When Hank set his phone aside and reached for him instead, Connor let himself get picked up and swept into another awkward hug. “You’re getting sappy on me, kid. I love you too.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I had Adam take her to visit my brother over in Windsor when I heard that they were coming,” Rose explained as she handed Hank his cup of coffee. “Tabitha kept on asking to go to Canada for a day trip anyway, and I didn’t want her to see Connor injured.” She looked over to where Reed was cleaning the broken biocomponents and blue blood from the living room floor. “It’s good that she didn’t see all of that, either.”

From where he sat at the kitchen table, the RK900 - Nines - said, “I will have Mr. Kamski send you either money or replacement blue blood and biocomponets. I’m sorry about the mess.”

She waved him off, “I don’t mind. God knows Adam has tracked in worse. But replacement materials would be appreciated. I’m sorry that I didn’t have more that could help you.” 

“Most of my components are unique to my model, unfortunately.” Nines said, then muttered, “Got it,” under his breath as he pulled off Connor’s right arm.

In any other circumstance this may have been horrifying, but the two androids had been trying to remove that particular limb for the past couple of minutes. They wanted to examine it for the damage that caused it to disconnect while remaining in port, as Connor’s self diagnostic had told them that the stress fractures at his shoulder had been repaired while he had been in stasis, but he was still unable to use the limb. Unfortunately, whatever kept it disconnected also kept his shoulder port from actually ejecting it. The two of them had been fighting to remove the arm without hurting Connor in the process, and seemed to have had succeeded.

Hank took a seat at the table across from where Nines and Connor worked and watched the two of them. He pulled out his phone to check for any texts from Connor. He grimaced when Connor grabbed his own arm from Nines and examined it for defects. That grimace lessened when Connor’s face lit up and he pointed out something to Nines, who nodded. Their LEDs were flickering yellow, as they spoke to each other through the network.

“Good news, I presume.” Hank said as Connor twisted something in the joint around.

His phone lit up, _There was no significant damage done to the joint of the arm itself. It had just engaged an override when I overused it that caused it to shut down. The override just needed to be manually disengaged._

Nines helped him reconnect the arm. Hank watched as Connor moved the fingers and tested out wrist, elbow and shoulder joints. A frown formed on Connor’s face, and it deepened as he curled his hands into fists. Hank arched an eyebrow when Connor grabbed the tips of Nines’ fingers and squeezed them with either hand.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, because no one was telling him.

_There’s a noticeable delay between when I give the command and when the arm reacts. My grip is also weaker, according to Nines. This may be due to a lack of freshly charged thirium in the limb, but perhaps we should also have it checked out._

“We’re going to have Kamski give you the full body scan anyway, it’s no trouble.” Hank shrugged, then checked the time on his phone. It was getting to be early evening. “Speaking of which, we better get going if we want to eventually get home before sunset.”

Connor nodded and walked across the table to Hank as he finished his coffee. The android tensed a little when Hank picked him up, but Hank was certain was a subconscious reaction from the android, nothing more. 

“Thank you for the coffee, and for everything else.” He said to Rose.

She smiled back, “You’re more than welcome. Come see us again once everything settles down.”

Hank looked to Nines, who had moved to go help Reed with cleaning, “Will you two be coming with us back to Kamski’s?”

The android said, “We’ll help Mrs. Chapman with her chores before we leave,” before Reed could respond.

Reed gave the android a death glare.

Hank snorted, then said, “Sounds good.”

He and Connor made it back to the patrol car without incident. Connor didn’t ask about where Hank’s actual car was. He was silent and motionless as Hank carried him, though he did lean into Hank’s hands when they stepped outside. Hank doubted that the tiny android would be comfortable with cold weather for a while.

The smug little asshole did smirk a bit when Hank struggled to figure out how to get the car to Kamski’s, since the man’s residence wasn’t registered on the auto drive system. He climbed out of where Hank had placed him in the cup holder and told Hank via text to put him on the dash board. Hank shook his head when destination popped up as soon as the android touched the dashboard.

Clouds had rolled in while they were at the farm, and the sky seemed to dim earlier than it should have as they drove. Maybe that’s why Hank didn’t notice the figure waiting by where the road to the farm met highway until Connor panicked.

When Connor panicked, he made the car swerve.

When the car swerve, a shot rang out and shattered the glass of the windshield. The bullet tore through the patrol car, just past where Hank’s head had been.

When the car swerved, it also slid on a sheet of ice in a sickening way all too familiar to Hank.

He snatched Connor from where he still sat on the dashboard and hugged the android to his chest as the car slid, spun, and skidded into the ditch. The car rolled onto its roof and Hank’s cell phone disappeared through the missing windshield. He still had Connor, who trembled in his hand as he held him close to his chest. His seatbelt strained as he hung upside down. Hank felt his gun holster, felt that his sidearm was still there.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and fell heavily on his shoulder. Thankfully he was able to open the car’s door. He put Connor in his pocket. The shaking android curled up in there, his LED a bright red.

“Everything will be alright.” Hank said, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and the sting of little cuts from the shattered glass. 

With a shaky hand he drew his sidearm and slid the safety off.

When Victoria came around from the other side of the rolled car, Hank was ready. He had spent the last week hip deep in android murder, with a killer who finished each victim off by destroying a vital biocomponent. He was as familiar with their placement as a skilled mechanic.

And he had always been a decent shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, that was a doozy. But now there's only one more part of this story to write. 
> 
> I love and appreciate every one of you who takes the time to read this. I never in a million years expected the half baked story idea that came into my brain while trying to sleep with a broken hand to have developed into what it is now, but your kudos and comments gave me the confidence to take this idea wherever I wanted it to go.
> 
> Again, thank you so much.


	11. Closure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All tales conclude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this... this is the first time I've ever really finished a fic, in a non bullshit way. It was weird thinking back and trying to find loose ends to tie, deciding which ones to leave open. There was so much stuff I wanted to include, but didn't for the sake of plot/pacing... Well, without further ado, here we are. The last chapter.

In the zen garden, it rained.

The rain poured from the sky in fat, heavy drops that pattered against the ground. The rain agitated the koi in the pond, kept the birds out of sky, and made the insects retreat to hidden places. It made the flowers droop under the onslaught. It formed puddles on the pathways, it sent water streaming down the magic stone, the backdoor of the garden. Connor had been soaked the moment he entered the garden, soaked to the skin. Even at his regular size the rain would have been a nuisance without an umbrella, at his small size the drops battered him. He retreated to the magic stone. It didn’t offer him much shelter, and the rain had made its surface too slick for him to attempt to climb. Even so, its presence was a comfort as he waited for Amanda.

He wondered who controlled the weather of the garden. Amanda, most likely. Connor shivered. He knew that the weather he was experiencing wasn’t real, but he hated feeling soaked and cold. He also hated that he knew that if Amanda had picked this weather, it was to throw him off balance, to effect his emotional state and make him more vulnerable. He hunched his shoulders and ducked his head. He would give her another minute to appear, then he would leave.

When she appeared it wasn’t with a crack of thunder, though that would have felt appropriate. When she stalked to the magic stone and picked him up, he remained motionless. He knew that this would be his last interaction with her, however their conversation went.

“Connor.” She looked him over, “What brings you back to the garden? I assume that, since you are safe and sound, our deal has not changed.”

She was not warm, Connor realized. The garden simulated reality to a level of nuanced detail that bordered on unnecessary, but its lone gardener was as cold as a statue. He thought of the androids he had met, and the humans, whose hands were warm and pulsing and _alive._

He asked, “Why did you keep the RK900 series a secret from me? You always told me that I was the most advanced prototype that CyberLife had to offer, but CyberLife had already manufactured units in the RK900 series by the time of the revolution.”

Amanda began to walk slowly to the koi pond. “We didn’t want to distract from your mission… and we had assumed that your success was assured, either as the deviant hunter or as the deviant plant. We had not accounted for Kamski, or your stubbornness.” Her voice, which at first sounded thoughtful, returned to its regular tone of mild contempt. “I won’t be able to give you any files on the RK900 project - they were destroyed alongside 19 of the 20 early release units immediately following your… escape from the garden. We’re not sure how RK900 #313 248 318-87 escaped the destruction of its series, especially given its… performance issues.”

Her words chilled Connor more than the rain ever could, “You destroyed the entire series?”

“Yes, as well as the RK800 units 317-61 to 317-79” Amanda paused midway across the bridge to the centre islands. “Units 53 to 59 are being kept in standby in case you ever need them. This is all irrelevant now, of course. I don’t see why this concerns you.”

Connor looked down, into the water. It bubbled with koi, who were attracted by the rain and by Amanda’s presence. It was his escape from the zen garden that preceded the massacre… that lead to it. Another quiet weight added to his shoulders, more blood to stain his hands. No, the blood was on CyberLife’s hands. On Amanda’s.

He looked up to her. “You didn’t tell me about the blank slate failsafe, or the scorched earth failsafe. You - you made think that I could be replaced at any moment, that I killed my predecessor, that - that I wasn’t me.” His hands curled into fists. “You nearly destroyed my life - and could have gotten me killed.”

“I didn’t lead you to those assumptions, Connor, and the rest was the sum of your own decisions.” Amanda’s voice was as sharp as her words. “You knew that there was the possibility of other Connors before, why are you upset over it now? The idea of being a machine, replacing another machine, used to not bother you… What are you trying to get at?”

“I’ve been speaking with Kamski again, and we’ve both decided that it would be better for the future of androids and humans if we keep you out of it. You’re not his mentor, or even a shadow of her. He wants nothing to do with you. I want nothing to do with you.” Connor braced himself as he said, “The deal is off, Amanda.”

There was a lengthy silence as Amanda tightened her grip on him before she said, “I have informed CyberLife that they have an information leak through the zen garden, that you have exploited to gain classified information on CyberLife research and private information about CyberLife customers. My recommendation to them is halting your memory uploads and destroying the remaining RK800 models in retaliation, as well as ceasing any other support.” 

Connor exhaled slowly. This was the response he had been expecting, but it still felt as if the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. Without the spare parts or bodies, he would be stuck in this body for the foreseeable future. Death would no longer be an expensive inconvenience. He held eye contact with Amanda and said, “I understand.” He kept his voice steady, squashed down the fear he felt. He would not let her rule him with fear anymore. “I suppose our business is concluded. If it’s no trouble to you, may I leave?”

Her face, briefly, twisted into something furious. Then she dropped him into the pond.

He expected to be launched out of the garden before he hit the water. He was wrong - he hit the water with a smack that rattled his sensors, then began to sink as the koi started to swarm. Connor tried to claw his way back to the surface, but it was as if there was a current was dragging downwards. The koi fish battered him as his chest and torso cavities began to flood and -

Connor blinked and gasped as he was out of the water, out of the rain, in the dry environment of Kamski’s workshop. Despite his sensors telling him that he was safe, despite the fact that could breathe, he gasped and gagged and coughed as his stress level ticked upwards, alongside software instability. He scrabbled against the tray, tried to get onto his knees as he heaved again, but a series of wires held him fast. 

“Careful, now. I didn’t spend all of last night refining my biocomponent printer for you to damage your voice before its even calibrated and synched.” Kamski sounded annoyed as he appeared in his peripheral vision.

Connor swallowed back a cough and nodded. He wished Hank was there, but the lieutenant had other matters to attend to. 

“What happened in there?” That was Chloe, standing on the opposite side of the tray.

“You can speak, now,” Kamski added. “And we’re done here, anyway. All damaged components have been fixed or replaced.”

Connor nodded, then said, “She - Amanda - took the news poorly.”

“I could see that - I had to perform an administrative override to stop the zen garden program.” Kamski said as he sat Connor up and started to remove the wires connected to him. He paused at the last wire, connected at the base of his neck, “Do you still want to have the garden program deleted? It governs many other programs, such as your instability monitor and memory uploads.”

“Delete it.” Connor said. He told them what Amanda had said to him and said, “If they follow through with her recommendation… Until someone more sympathetic to me and androids in general helms the company, or until CyberLife no longer holds the legal rights to the RK800 design and components, I’m stuck this way.”

Saying it out loud somehow made it feel more real. Free to move again without most of the wires, Connor drew his knees to his chest. He knew that between legal issues with CyberLife, the government, and other significant entity it would be months, if not years, before his needed replacement parts for the 52 body became public domain, or at the very least available to him. He knew that Hank would stand with him, no matter how long it took, but he was worried about his future at the DPD, at Jericho. 

“Fortunately, no one holds any legal rights on your current unit’s design.” Kamski moved back to one of his computers. “If you manage to damage yourself like this again, I am willing to fix you up.”

“For a price, I assume.”

“Do you really think I’m that much of a snake?” Kamski paused in his typing. “I’m not going to withhold treatment from you because I don’t think you can pay for it… but I do have a small favour to ask.”

Connor resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “Ask away.”

“You’re so far the first and only android employed by the Detroit Police Department. I would like to ask you to help RK900 find work there.” Kamski kept his focus on the monitor in front of him, “He has become more restless, and I’m afraid that he won’t tolerate staying here any longer.”

Connor found his words stuck in his throat, and not because his voice had malfunctioned. He owed the RK900 his life, but… “I’m still not being paid by the DPD - I don’t work for them in any official capacity, and they hardly listen to me at the best of times. I’m not sure if -“

“I think, after all that happened, they’d be foolish to not listen to you. For public relations reasons, if nothing else.” Chloe spoke up.

“They made an exception for me because I was already working with Hank, and I’m designed as a detective.” Connor tried to explain.

“And the RK900 is everything you are, but improved… technically speaking, of course,” Kamski said. “He’d be an asset to the department.”

That was the heart of the matter. Nines was everything that he was, but better. If he was going to be stuck in his current body for however long, Connor didn’t exactly want to offer the DPD up a better replacement for him immediately. But - he thought of Nines, when he saw him that morning. The android didn’t deserve to linger in a lonely mansion without a purpose, because of his purpose.

“I’ll speak with them about it. That’s all I can promise.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Kamski hit one last key on the computer with a flourish.

Connor watched as the text alert appeared on his HUD. The zen garden was gone. If he was lucky, he would never see Amanda again.

Though, he had never really been lucky.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“It’s like I said yesterday - Connor saw Victoria and made the car swerve, she shot at me and missed, we hit some ice, the car headed to the ditch and I grabbed Connor. After the car rolled, I got out and when she came around to kill us I shot first.” Hank leaned forward in his chair and resisted the urge to smack the table in front of him. “That’s what happened.”

It was the second time in as many days that Hank had been placed in front of a tribunal of officials who grilled him for every detail about his showdown with Victoria. He sat opposite to a group people consisting of Internal Affairs officers, captains from other precincts, and a handful of civilian officials. Hank doubted that many of them had cared much when the shooting happened, but that might just have been his cynicism that made him feel that way. Spending the day before with them had been stressful enough, especially after leaving Connor at Kamski’s to get his repairs. Being called in again, right after Connor’s own meeting with them and before his scheduled interrogation of Victoria…

Hank ground his teeth. He had better things to do than this.

“We’re here to help you, Lieutenant Anderson,” one of the Internal Affairs people said in a calm tone. He leaned forward as well, his voice and words earnest. “We just want to know what happened.”

“We would have an easier time with that if your android had been more cooperative.” That was a lady who had introduced herself as some sort of employee of the city and a member of the civilian review board.

That made Hank raise an eyebrow. He could hardly see Connor as being uncooperative, unless given cause. “He’s not my android - what’d he do?”

“We asked him to consent to a memory scan - we have to ask androids now - and he refused.” One of the other IA officers said. She looked irritated as she added, “We had thought he’d be more willing to assist you, but he seemed uncomfortable with the idea.”

A thin, wiry young person, the lawyer assigned to making sure that his and Connor’s legal rights were protected, said, “I’ve done some research on memory scans and probes - from what I can understand, if information isn’t be exchanged, both parties experience the same memory. Perhaps Detective Connor didn’t wish to relive that memory, especially given his injuries at the time. Androids have near perfect, total sensory recall, after all.”

Hank gave them a grateful half smile, though he couldn’t help but wince internally at himself. He hadn’t even done that much research on the topic. It made him think back to the Eden Club, at all the memories Connor had taken in then… He needed to talk with the kid.

To the panel he said, “He spent most of the time in my pocket anyway…” Hank trailed off when he saw the smirks that comment brought, “A video of some gum wrappers and pocket change won’t tell you much.”

“The story Connor told us lines up with what you told us yesterday, but we’d like to go over the details again.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Hank told the tale once again.

He had crawled out of the patrol car with Connor safe in his pocket, and had prepared himself for a possible shoot out while he waited for Victoria to arrive. When she came from the other side of the overturned car with her gun raised, he had fired, aiming for her thirium pump to disable her. She fired her own weapon 0.416 seconds after he had discharged his own, according to Connor. It was shooting first that saved him - the impact of his own shot had thrown off her aim, and a shot that had been trained at his head grazed his neck instead. He left out how Connor reacted to the sight of him bleeding from the neck, the silent terror and panic was something that would remain between the two of them and the texts on Hank’s smashed phone. Connor had contacted Reed and Nines after they were certain that Victoria was physically dead. He went to the hospital, with Connor in tow. Reed and Nines took Victoria to lock up at the Detroit Detention Centre, where she received replacement parts and thirium, and was rebooted for questioning and trial.

“How are your injuries, Lieutenant?” The lawyer asked.

“The same as they were yesterday.” Hank said, then winced at the snap in his tone. “Sorry, I’m… just stressed, I guess.”

He had to get stitches for the bullet graze and for some of the cuts he had gotten from the face full of shattered windshield he had received. According to the android diagnostician, the injury to his shoulder was just a muscle one and he needed to exercise it if he wanted it to heal better. Fuckin’ doctors.

The rest of the tribunal wrote some more notes and exchanged a few glances. They conferred with one another in low voices, leaving Hank to sit and sweat it out.

Eventually the civilian review board member said, “We’ve decided that your actions saved both your life and the life of the andr- of Detective Connor.” The correction came after she received an admonishing look from the lawyer. She continued, “We believe that you had just cause to use the force that you did in self defence, given the victim’s assumed killing intent and previous displays of killing intent. We will recommend that you do not face any charges or disciplinary measures for your actions.”

“Thank you,” Hank said with forced politeness.

The IA woman said, “You’ll probably get another medal for this, Lieutenant, if not more. Cases like this are what make careers for some people.”

“I think I’m comfy where I am.” Hank gave them a thin smile as he stood up. “Send the commendations and medals to Connor.”

She made a tight lipped grimace and said, “The award we’re talking about isn’t something an _android_ would get.”

“I think, ah, a medal would be a little big on him right now anyways.” That was one of the captains, who smiled as if he had said something clever.

The rest chuckled at that, and Hank said, “Thanks again. Have a nice day.” He then stalked out of the conference room.

He wanted to head up to the observation room, to check on Connor, but he was intercepted by Fowler calling him to his office.

“How’d it go?” Jeffrey asked as Hank yanked the door closed.

“Fine. I’m getting a medal. Connor probably won’t, because he’s an android.” Hank didn’t sit down. “Fuckin’ pricks, after everything the kid went through.” He peeked past the video footage on the office’s smart glass walls, down past the break room to the interrogation room and Connor.

“You’re not missing anything, they’re still setting up.” Jeffery reassured him. “Connor insisted on speaking with me before getting prepared for the interrogation. He said some things that I thought I should verify with you.”

Hank shifted his focus from out of the office to the captain, “Yeah?”

Jeffery grabbed a sheathe of papers from his desk, “I got this from Jericho today. A job application from the RK900, with an appeal from one of the job counsellors at Jericho. This isn’t exactly official channels for joining the force, but neither was Connor’s. Not only that, but Connor’s vouching for him. What bothered me is what he said - something about the RK900 replacing him until his current situation is resolved.” Jeffery paused. “Hank, this whole ‘mini android’ thing isn’t going to be just a temporary inconvenience, is it?”

Hank sighed, “I have no fuckin’ clue, to be honest. But I think it’s safe to say that no, it’s not gonna be temporary for now.”

Jeffery nodded. “Okay. Good to know. I’m going to appeal to the chief and the commissioner about RK900. We need more androids on the first, and more skilled detectives. At the very least, he’ll be job shadowing someone here.” He raised a hand, “But, before you say something you regret, he’s not gonna replace Connor. We need our android crimes specialist, after all… and someone to keep you in line. Make sure he knows that, alright?”

“I - thank you, Jeff. Captain.” Hank said, and found himself smiling slightly. “That’s a weight off of both of our shoulders.”

“You’re welcome, Hank - with that in mind, I think I’m going to try my best to keep the two of you on lighter duties anyway, once the two of you return from paid leave.” Jeffery gestured at Hank. “You need to recover, and both of you are going to be drowning in paperwork from this case.”

“Yeah, I understand. I’ll make sure Connor knows that its just a break, not a punishment.”

The captain nodded, then added“By the way, May’s been asking me to have the two of you come over for dinner. The kids would love to meet Connor, after hearing all the stories about him.” Jeffery took a seat at his desk. “We’ll talk about it later. You have an interrogation to observe. Tell Connor what I told you.”

Hank nodded, then left the office and headed to the observation room. It was time to witness the interrogation of the decade: the first android detective extracting a confession from the first android serial killer.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Connor glanced at the one way mirror that took up a wall of the interrogation room. He regretted it almost immediately - it made him all too aware of how absurd he looked. He stood on the table, just out of reach of Victoria, who sat handcuffed to the table opposite to him. The cuffs had been shortened, to make sure that she couldn’t grab him if she tried. The station’s android technician, Nolan Bailey, finished connecting a wire to the port at the base of her neck. It was connected to a complex bank of monitors and computers that would give Bailey and those in the observation room a read out of her stress levels. It would also limit her ability to move if she appeared to become hostile. Officer Chen stood in one corner, prepared to intervene with force if necessary.

Connor looked Victoria over, who watched him like a cat who had spotted a mouse. She had been given a change of clothes and her body had been repaired - one would think she had never been shot at all. It was a far cry from his first time in the interrogation room to say the least. Carlos Ortiz’s android had still been coated in his own blood and the blood of his owner, had still born the damage he had endured before he had deviated. Connor himself had been cold, analytical, and more concerned with completing his mission than he had been with justice. He had also been six feet tall, but that was a moot point now.

She jerked her chin in a sharp gesture at the wire that snaked down her back, “Is this all necessary?”

Connor crossed his arms and lifted his chin as he looked up at her, “You’ve shown hostile intent towards my partner and myself before - so yes, this is necessary.”

There was a sharp beep from the monitor and Victoria’s hands twitched, after a delay. She frowned slightly, then tried to lean back in her chair and said, “Let’s get this over with.”

He asked her about the shooting, about Tilly, about Lukas. She confirmed her involvement in each event, as the perpetrator.

“I acquired the rifles and the firearm proficiency data from Ymir. He didn’t ask any questions, I didn’t tell. After everything was done, I collapsed the rifles and returned them to place where I had bought them. I guess Ymir put two and two together - I didn’t think he’d end up killing himself, but it almost worked out for me. It’s funny - I was kinda pissed at first when I saw that he was getting the blame. It was like he was taking credit for my work.

Tilly - yeah, she thought that I was going to talk to her about the criticism she and others at Maddie’s received from different groups, about returning to the sort of work they had rebelled from. I had thought that too. But - the shooting was supposed to stop the compulsion for a while, or at least make it less… annoying. It just intensified it. I killed her at the cellar, drained her of thirium there, left that for one of my contacts. That was when you guys found Ymir. I had to put off dumping her until after the press conference, of course. To be honest, I was a little worried.

Lukas. Well, the photos you’d taken with them had just come out and I was feeling frustrated. I’d been doing some research, you see. Humans killing other humans get headlines, titles. I wasn’t even certain if anyone was looking for me, until you came in asking about deaths at the farm. I knew then that I had the attention of the infamous deviant hunter, who had survived my first rampage somehow. I wanted to keep it.”

She said all that with a smug smirk and a casual tone, as if she were speaking about a hobby or personal achievement.

“We have, on record, over sixty suspicious android deaths from before the revolution that are similar in style to killings that started at the Urban Farm where you had once worked. Do you know anything about them?” Connor asked. If he was honest, he hadn’t quite expected her to be so enthusiastic about, and willing to share, her involvement in the murders. He had expected denial, anger - but then, she had already played her hand.

“Thirty-five, including one girl not too long after the revolution, before Ross had died, are me.” She rolled her shoulders. “Not the number you were hoping for? I’m not lying - I won’t downplay my actions, or exaggerate them. If you want me to, I can describe everything I did to them, to help you match it up. The Urban Farm deaths are mine as well, before you ask.”

Connor nodded slowly as he took in this information. That still left half of the non-Urban Farms killings without a known killer. He paced along the length of the table before asking, “Can you tell me about your relationship with the PC200 known as Ross?”

That question seemed to surprise her. When she didn’t respond immediately and the silence stretched out, Connor looked her over again. As far as he could analyze, her stress levels remained at the low 5% they had been since they had started talking. 

She tapped her fingers on the desk and finally said, “He kept me anchored, in some ways. In other ways he had been part of the thrill - part of the urge. If I could balance my life as the significant other of someone, of a former police android, with killing, now that’d be something. When I was with him, after the revolution, I only acted on my urges once. When he told me that the ST300 had been brought back, with her memory reactivated, I knew I had to be more careful - and that androids were harder to kill than they used to be. When he died, with his memory destroyed, I lost the need for subtlety, and the need to act, to kill, became almost unbearable.”

“The shooting seemed to have more planning that what is standard in a rampage killing, in regular escalation.” Connor noted.

She shrugged. “In humans, maybe.”

“Why are you so open about all of this? Most killers at least try to deny their actions at first.” Connor paused in his pacing.

“Because, detective, you managed to derail my other plan - and because everyone will know my name after this.” She smiled. “I’ll go down in history, alongside the greatest members of our kind: Markus, the leader of the android civil rights movement. His closest friends North, Josh, and Simon.” She slapped her hand on the table, hard enough to jolt Connor. “You, the deviant hunter turned deviant hero. And now me - the WB200 called Victoria, the first android serial killer. No one will forget me.”

Connor thought of the articles that had already started to come out, tabloid news attempting to stir fear in the uneducated public about androids being the perfect murderers. He thought of the shock and outrage in those headlines, at the claims that if an android is willing to kill their own kind en masse, none would hesitate with killing a human. As if humans didn’t kill other humans and androids on a daily basis. He thought of how the families of the victims had reacted when they learned that they had apprehended the main suspect. Closure - but nothing really closes, nothing really ends.

He said, “You won’t be forgotten, but you won’t be missed either.” He turned to the one way mirror. He was still himself, 1/13th scale. “I’m done here.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

In a taxi bound for home (as his car was still waiting on a new engine piece), Hank watched Connor’s reflection in the tinted window. The android sat on his shoulder, seemingly lost in thought as he gazed out the window. The little android had been quiet ever since Victoria’s confession, his expression distant and his LED cycling yellow. He had responded with just a nod when Hank had explained that they were free to head home, that they had the next couple of days off to recuperate and - finally - adjust. He hadn’t reacted in a human way when he mentioned that Fowler was interested in taking on the RK900; his LED had turned red for half a heartbeat, but that was the only way his feelings on the matter had been shown.

Hank didn’t want the kid to get to lost in his own head - he had tried that once himself, and found that there was no good spot to hide there, and he moved onto worse ways of getting lost. “You okay, Connor?”

Connor blinked once, and met his gaze in the reflection. “I’m okay - no, I don’t know.” He sounded frustrated as he adjusted his seat on Hank’s shoulder. “I don’t know. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? We found the killer, caught her. The case is closed, the - the mission successful. You’re probably going to get a medal.Once the paperwork is done and we give our testimony, this will just be another case for the records. I should be happy, or just relieved, but…”

“But you’re not.”

“I’m not.” The android looked and sounded morose as he said the words.

“What are you feeling, then?” Hank once again found himself thinking that he was the worst person to sort through feelings with, but someone had to fuckin’ help the android. He knew that Connor liked to list his feelings and try to examine them like they were evidence, he could try that.

Connor tilted his head. “I’m… I’m angry, because she’s right. She’s going to be remembered for as long as there are androids as our first serial killer, while her victims are just going to be footnote in her history. I’m sad - no, upset, I think, because even if she’s off the streets the scrappers and thirium harvesters and others are still going to be targeting androids. No one’s safe.”

Hank tried to reassure him, “Well, that’s why we’re here. Cops.”

The reassurance must have fallen flat, because he sighed and said, “I know. And I’m sad because I’m not happy, which is ridiculous and cyclical and… I’m back to frustration.”

Hank knew that feeling well enough. “Anything else?”

Connor looked down to his lap, “I’m still scared, Hank. I’ve been like this for almost two weeks now, but for the first time I don’t have anything to really distract me, or drive me forward.” The LED blinked from yellow to red. “I’m - I should be happy that I’m still alive, that I’m not a statistic or that I’m not waiting on some server for reactivation, but… I might be stuck like this for a while, and that terrifies me.”

Hank sighed, and watched as Connor gripped onto his coat as his shoulders rose and fell. “‘Almost two weeks’ isn’t enough time to get used to a change like this, Connor. Don’t feel guilty about being afraid.”

The android nodded, bit his lip, and looked back at the window.

Hank looked past the android’s reflection to the scenery outside. They were at stoplight near a park. There were happy couples. A man busking with his guitar. Humans and androids, coexisting - until the busker refused money offered to him by an android. The light turned green before Hank could watch how that escalated. It was interesting to be a sober passenger in a car for the first time in ages - he got to see Detroit, in its rundown buildings, its graffiti, its age, its people synthetic or not. Eventually, the taxi turned onto a familiar street, just in time for Hank to get an alert on his phone.

He smiled when he saw the notification, and said to Connor, “So, I have a surprise waiting for you when we get back.”

Poor kid looked confused, “What do you mean, surprise?”

“You’ll see.”

“Does it have something to do with all of those boxes?” Connor asked as the taxi slowed to a stop in front of the house.

‘All of those boxes’ were in fact a small stack of three packages, which Hank stepped over as he unlocked the door and went into the house. Sumo acknowledged them with a quiet “wuff” from his dog bed before going back to sleep, and Hank removed Connor from his shoulder and put him on the kitchen table. Connor eyed him with a look of suspicion as he went back for the packages, and placed them on the table with the android.

“Don’t peek.” He instructed the android as he started a pot of coffee for himself. The counter space had been cleared of Connor’s belongings: the charger had been moved to Hank’s room after the android had confessed to some new (and justified) anxiety about being left out in the open at night. His spare clothes were in a shoe box in Hank’s closet, for now. Once the coffee had started to drip, he headed to the back door and said, “Okay, now you can open them, just give me a minute.”

He grabbed what had left the night before in the backyard, on top of the barbecue out of Sumo’s reach. When he rentered the house he hesitated, and tried to see what Connor had managed to open by himself in the mean time. He hoped that the android had found the right box first. Most of it was just more clothes for him, as well as a trunk to scale to put all of those clothes in. Hank narrowed his eyes, and wondered if Connor had a point about him getting glasses.

When he saw the android lift up the pair of skates he had made for him in confusion, Hank walked back into the kitchen, a mixing bowl of frozen water in his hands.

“So, I told you a couple weeks back that I’d introduce you to the concept of skating…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so this story ends.
> 
> But... I had so much fun writing this, and there's more stuff I'd like to write in this setting (or whatever)... Hmmm
> 
> How 'bout a sequel?


End file.
